#William wordsworth books full

Yet from the first crude days Of settling time in this untried abode, I was disturbed at times by prudent thoughts, Wishing to hope without a hope, some fears About my future worldly maintenance, And, more than all, a strangeness in the mind, A feeling that I was not for that hour, Nor for that place. Such glory was but little sought by me, And little won. Of College labours, of the Lecturer's room All studded round, as thick as chairs could stand, With loyal students faithful to their books, Half-and-half idlers, hardy recusants, And honest dunces-of important days, Examinations, when the man was weighed As in a balance! of excessive hopes, Tremblings withal and commendable fears, Small jealousies, and triumphs good or bad, Let others that know more speak as they know. Her pealing organ was my neighbour too And from my pillow, looking forth by light Of moon or favouring stars, I could behold The antechapel where the statue stood Of Newton with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind for ever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone. Near me hung Trinity's loquacious clock, Who never let the quarters, night or day, Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours Twice over with a male and female voice. John my patron was: Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure Right underneath, the College kitchens made A humming sound, less tuneable than bees, But hardly less industrious with shrill notes Of sharp command and scolding intermixed.

My lordly dressing-gown, I pass it by, With other signs of manhood that supplied The lack of beard.-The weeks went roundly on, With invitations, suppers, wine and fruit, Smooth housekeeping within, and all without Liberal, and suiting gentleman's array. As if the change Had waited on some Fairy's wand, at once Behold me rich in monies, and attired In splendid garb, with hose of silk, and hair Powdered like rimy trees, when frost is keen. I was the Dreamer, they the Dream I roamed Delighted through the motley spectacle Gowns, grave, or gaudy, doctors, students, streets, Courts, cloisters, flocks of churches, gateways, towers: Migration strange for a stripling of the hills, A northern villager.

#William wordsworth books full

My spirit was up, my thoughts were full of hope Some friends I had, acquaintances who there Seemed friends, poor simple school-boys, now hung round With honour and importance: in a world Of welcome faces up and down I roved Questions, directions, warnings and advice, Flowed in upon me, from all sides fresh day Of pride and pleasure! to myself I seemed A man of business and expense, and went From shop to shop about my own affairs, To Tutor or to Tailor, as befel, From street to street with loose and careless mind.