William Wordsworth Mother-Daughter Poems

--HAST thou then survived-
Mild Offspring of infirm humanity,
Meek Infant! among all forlornest things

How Sweet It Is, When Mother Fancy Rocks

HOW sweet it is, when mother Fancy rocks
The wayward brain, to saunter through a wood!
An old place, full of many a lovely brood,

The Mother's Return

A MONTH, sweet Little-ones, is past
Since your dear Mother went away,---
And she tomorrow will return;
Tomorrow is the happy day.

The Sailor's Mother

ONE morning (raw it was and wet---
A foggy day in winter time)
A Woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime:

The Emigrant Mother

ONCE in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
In which a Lady driven from France did dwell;
The big and lesser griefs with which she mourned,

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