British Poets: Wednesday Wordsworth

Ok, I will admit that I am starting this saga on Tuesday, but Wednesday Wordsworth sounds so much better IMHO! LOL!

I like Wordsworth! Yes, he is an early romanticist, but he isn't quite as evil as I expected from all the talking that Thelma does about him. I don't like where his romanticism led us, but I liked the poem I just listened to:

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed---and gazed---but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. William Wordsworth Very long but very funny too: The Idiot Boy An audio of a great English reader: "She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways" I wonder who Lucy was to Wordsworth? SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! --Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; 10 But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! 1799. Maybe this is her: LUCY GRAY OR, SOLITUDE OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, --The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; 10 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. "To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow." "That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!" 20 At this the Father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; 30 And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. 40 They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet;" --When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall; And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; 50 They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! --Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. 60 O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. 1799. According to Wikipedia, it is NOT the same Lucy in the two poems! Didn't care for this one because Wordsworth definitely has a different world view than me:: "Lines Left Upon a Seat in a Yew Tree" Interesting critique of it here: The poem documents the life of a hermit. The hermit lives in solitude, away from society.  He instead finds solace and beauty in nature. However Wordsworth does not encourage  us to be a complete hermit, but find a balance between accepting nature and society.   Wordsworth is again relating to the common man in this poem. However, by judging  the man as a 'hermit', Wordsworth inentions could be constructed as condescending,  which is the opposite of his objectives in the 'preface' to lyrical ballads. I still need to read a couple of short poem and "The Prelude" which is a very long poem.  I listened to excerpts last night, but I can't find it at the library.  So, I might have to buy it for my Kindle. :)