
William Wordsworth
Years of life
Place of Birth
Place of death
Residence
Publication languages
About the poet
William Wordsworth (1770-1850) was an English poet who is often considered one of the founders of the Romantic movement in English literature. He was born in Cockermouth, England, and grew up in the Lake District, a region that would become the inspiration for much of his poetry.
Wordsworth began writing poetry in his early teens, and he went on to attend Cambridge University, where he became friends with fellow poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Together, they published Lyrical Ballads (1798), a collection of poems that helped to define the Romantic movement.
Wordsworth's poetry is characterized by its focus on nature and the inner lives of individuals, and his use of everyday language and vivid imagery helped to revolutionize the way that poetry was written and read. Some of his most famous works include "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud," "Tintern Abbey," and "Ode: Intimations of Immortality."
In addition to his work as a poet, Wordsworth was also a social and political activist who advocated for radical change during a time of great social upheaval in England. He served as a member of Parliament and supported the abolition of slavery and other progressive causes.
Wordsworth died in 1850 at the age of 80. His work has had a profound influence on English literature and on the way that poetry is written and read, and his legacy as one of the greatest poets in the English language continues to be celebrated and studied today.
Wordsworth died in 1850 at the age of 80. His work has had a profound influence on English literature and on the way that poetry is written and read, and his legacy as one of the greatest poets in the English language continues to be celebrated and studied today.
Wordsworth fell in love twice in France: once with Annette Vallon, a young French lady who later bore him a daughter, and then again with the French Revolution. When he returned to England, he penned his Letter to the Bishop of Llandaff, a treatise in support of the French Revolutionary cause, but it was never published. Following the receipt of a bequest in 1795, Wordsworth moved to Alfoxden, Dorset, near Coleridge, with his sister Dorothy.
Who Was William Wordsworth?
He produced several of his most famous poems at this time, as well as traveling to Germany with Coleridge and Dorothy. In 1802, Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson, and a year ago, the second and enlarged edition of the Lyrical Ballads was published. Wordsworth's most famous poem, 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud' was written at Dove Cottage in 1804. The poems 'Resolution and Independence' and 'Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood' were featured in Poems in Two Volumes, which were published in 1807.
He also formed new connections with Walter Scott, Sir G. Beaumont, and De Quincy during this time, produced poetry like "Elegaic Stanzas inspired by a Picture of Peele Castle" (1807). Also he had five children. In 1842, he was an award-winning poet and got a government pension the following year.
Wordsworth's poetry is still widely read today. Wordsworth's own remarks on the purpose of poetry, which he termed "the most philosophical of all writing" and whose aim is "truth...carried alive into the heart by passion," may best explain its virtually universal appeal.
Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson, a boyhood friend, in 1802. His personal life became increasingly tough during the following few years. Dorothy had a mental breakdown, his two children died and his brother drowned at sea. Around the turn of the century, his political beliefs shifted, and he became more conservative. He was disillusioned by events in France culminating in Napoleon Bonaparte taking power.
Wordsworth As a Nature Poet
Wordsworth was called by Shelly “Poet of nature”. He, too, called himself “A Worshiper of Nature”. He held a firm faith that nature could enlighten the kindheartedness and universal brotherhood of human being, and only existing in harmony with nature where man could get true happiness.
Wordsworth died on April 23, 1850, and was buried in the graveyard of Grasmere.
Poems by Wordsworth William
He fled,--and, in his flight, could hear
The death-sounds of the Minster-bell:
That sullen stroke pronounced farewell
To Marmaduke, cut off from pity!
To Ambrose that! and then a knell...

Have marred this Work, the calm ethereal grace,
The love deep-seated in the Saviour's face,
The mercy, goodness, have not failed to awe
The Elements; as they do melt and thaw
The heart of the Beholder- and erase...

From the Vale's peace which all her fields partake,
Here on the bleakest point of Cumbria's shore
We sojourn stunned by Ocean's ceaseless roar;
While, day by day, grim neighbour! huge Black Comb
Frowns deepening visibly his native gloom...

If Thou the spirit give by which I pray:
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed:
Of good and pious works thou art the seed,
That quickens only where thou say'st it may...

Than that which in Dodona did enshrine
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine
Heard from the depths of its aerial bower--
How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour?
What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee...

The story of Cambuscan bold.'
I
'O LORD, our Lord! how wondrously,' (quoth she)
'Thy name in this large world is spread abroad!
For not alone by men of dignity...

BUT Cytherea, studious to invent
Arts yet untried, upon new counsels bent,
Resolves that Cupid, changed in form and face
To young Ascanius, should assume his place;
Present the maddening gifts, and kindle heat...

That work a living landscape fair and bright;
Nor hallowed less with musical delight
Than those soft scenes through which thy childhood strayed,
Those southern tracts of Cambria, 'deep embayed,
With green hills fenced, with ocean's murmur lulled...

Here, as 'mid busier scenes, ground steep and rough,
Or slippery even to peril! and each step,
As we for most uncertain recompence
Mount toward the empire of the fickle clouds,
Each weary step, dwarfing the world below...

An empty noise of death the battle's roar,
If vital hope be wanting to restore,
Or fortitude be wanting to sustain,
Armies or kingdoms. We have heard a strain
Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore...

HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
Whether thy punctual visitations smite
The haughty towers where monarchs dwell...

Along the Vale of Meditation flows;
So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see
In Nature's face the expression of repose,
Or, haply there some pious Hermit chose
To live and die -- the peace of Heaven his aim...

I
HIS simple truths did Andrew glean
Beside the babbling rills;
A careful student he had been
Among the woods and hills...

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, 'Drink, pretty creature, drink!'
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone...

Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there's a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story...

Where from distress a refuge might be found,
And solitude prepare the soul for heaven;
Sure, nature's God that spot to man had given
Where falls the purple morning far and wide
In flakes of light upon the mountain side...

When they the wished-for greeting heard,
The whip's loud notice from the door,
That they were free to move once more.
You think, those doings must have bred
In them disheartening doubts and dread...

Who may respect my name, that I to thee
Owed many years of early liberty.
This care was thine when sickness did condemn
Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem--
That I, if frugal and severe, might stray...

A sky-blue stone, within this sunless cleft,
Is of the very footmarks unbereft
Which tiny Elves impressed; - on that smooth stage
Dancing with all their brilliant equipage
In secret revels - haply after theft...

MARCH 1807
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb:
How toilsome--nay, how dire--it was, by thee
Is known; by none, perhaps, so feelingly:
But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime...
