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1807 |
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1827 |
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1807 |
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MS. |
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1807 |
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1807 |
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The edition of 1836 resumes the text of 1815.
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The title, in the editions 1807 to 1820, was The Redbreast
and the Butterfly. In the editions 1827 to 1843 it was The Redbreast
and Butterfly. The final title was given in 1845.—Ed.
Compare Cowley:
'And Robin Redbreasts whom men praise,
For pious birds.'
Ed.
See
Paradise Lost
, book XI., where Adam points out to Eve
the ominous sign of the Eagle chasing "two Birds of gayest plume," and
the gentle Hart and Hind pursued by their enemy.—W. W. 1815.
The passage in book XI. of Paradise Lost includes lines 185-90.—Ed.
To a Butterfly (2)
Composed April 20, 1802.—Published 1807
[Written at the same time and place. The Orchard, Grasmere Town-end,
1801.—I. F.]
Included among the "Poems founded on the Affections."—Ed.
The Poem
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| I've watch'd you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little Butterfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless!—not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again! This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary! Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough! We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. Note Contents 1802 Main Contents |
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The text of 1845 reverts to the reading of 1807.
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Note:
Wordsworth's date, as given to Miss Fenwick, is incorrect.
In her Journal, April 20, 1802, Dorothy Wordsworth
writes:
"William wrote a conclusion to the poem of The Butterfly, 'I've watch'd you now a full half-hour.'"
This, and the structure of the two poems, makes it probable that the
latter was originally meant to be a sort of conclusion to the former (p.
283); but they were always printed as separate poems.
Many of the "flowers" in the orchard at Dove Cottage were planted by Dorothy Wordsworth, and some of the "trees" by William. The "summer days" of childhood are referred to in the previous poem, To a Butterfly, written on the 14th of March 1802.—Ed.
Many of the "flowers" in the orchard at Dove Cottage were planted by Dorothy Wordsworth, and some of the "trees" by William. The "summer days" of childhood are referred to in the previous poem, To a Butterfly, written on the 14th of March 1802.—Ed.
Foresight
Composed April 28, 1802.—Published 1807
[Also composed in the Orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.— I. F.]
Included among the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."—Ed.
The Poem
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| That is work of waste and ruin— Do as Charles and I are doing! Strawberry-blossoms, one and all, We must spare them—here are many: Look at it—the flower is small, Small and low, though fair as any: Do not touch it! summers two I am older, Anne, than you. Pull the primrose, sister Anne! Pull as many as you can. —Here are daisies, take your fill; Pansies, and the cuckoo-flower: Of the lofty daffodil Make your bed, or make your bower; Fill your lap, and fill your bosom; Only spare the strawberry-blossom! Primroses, the Spring may love them— Summer knows but little of them: Violets, a barren kind, Withered on the ground must lie; Daisies leave no fruit behind When the pretty flowerets die; Pluck them, and another year As many will be blowing here. God has given a kindlier power To the favoured strawberry-flower. Hither soon as spring is fled You and Charles and I will walk; Lurking berries, ripe and red, Then will hang on every stalk, Each within its leafy bower; And for that promise spare the flower! Note Contents 1802 Main Contents |
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1807 |
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1807 |
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| This last stanza was added in the edition of 1815. |
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1815 |
Note:
The full title of this poem, in the editions of 1807 to 1832, was
Foresight, or the Charge of a Child to his younger Companion, but it
was originally known in the household as "Children gathering Flowers."
The shortened title was adopted in 1836. The following is from Dorothy
Wordsworth's Journal:
"Wednesday, 28th April (1802).—Copied the Prioress's Tale. William was in the orchard. I went to him; he worked away at his poem, though he was ill, and tired. I happened to say that when I was a child I would not have pulled a strawberry blossom; I left him, and wrote out the Manciple's Tale. At dinner time he came in with the poem of Children gathering Flowers, but it was not quite finished, and it kept him long from his dinner. It is now done. He is working at The Tinker."
At an earlier date in the same year,—Jan. 31st, 1802,—the following
occurs:
"I found a strawberry blossom in a rock. The little slender flower had more courage than the green leaves, for they were but half expanded and half grown, but the blossom was spread full out. I uprooted it rashly, and I felt as if I had been committing an outrage; so I planted it again. It will have but a stormy life of it, but let it live if it can."
With this poem compare a parallel passage in Marvel's The Picture of T.
C. in a Prospect of Flowers:
'But oh, young beauty of the woods,
Whom nature courts with fruits and flowers,
Gather the flowers, but spare the buds;
Lest Flora, angry at thy crime
To kill her infants in their prime,
Should quickly make the example yours;
And, ere we see,
Nip in the blossom all our hopes in thee.'
Ed.
To the Small CelandineA
Composed April 30, 1802.—Published 1807
[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. It is remarkable that this flower,
coming out so early in the spring as it does, and so bright and
beautiful, and in such profusion, should not have been noticed earlier
in English verse. What adds much to the interest that attends it is its
habit of shutting itself up and opening out according to the degree of
light and temperature of the air.—I. F.]
One of the "Poems of the Fancy." In the original MS. this poem is called
To the lesser Celandine, but in the proof "small" was substituted for
"lesser."
In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following occurs, under date April 30, 1802:
In Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal the following occurs, under date April 30, 1802:
"We came into the orchard directly after breakfast, and sat there. The lake was calm, the sky cloudy. William began to write the poem of The Celandine.... I walked backwards and forwards with William. He repeated his poem to me, then he got to work again, and would not give over."
Ed.
The Poem
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| Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, 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: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. Eyes of some men travel far For the finding of a star; Up and down the heavens they go, Men that keep a mighty rout! I'm as great as they, I trow, Since the day I found thee out, Little Flower!—I'll make a stir, Like a sage astronomer. Modest, yet withal an Elf Bold, and lavish of thyself; Since we needs must first have met I have seen thee, high and low, Thirty years or more, and yet 'Twas a face I did not know; Thou hast now, go where I may, Fifty greetings in a day. Ere a leaf is on a bush, In the time before the thrush Has a thought about her nest, Thou wilt come with half a call, Spreading out thy glossy breast Like a careless Prodigal; Telling tales about the sun, When we've little warmth, or none. Poets, vain men in their mood! Travel with the multitude: Never heed them; I aver That they all are wanton wooers; But the thrifty cottager, Who stirs little out of doors, Joys to spy thee near her home; Spring is coming, Thou art come! Comfort have thou of thy merit, Kindly, unassuming Spirit! Careless of thy neighbourhood, Thou dost show thy pleasant face On the moor, and in the wood, In the lane;—there's not a place, Howsoever mean it be, But 'tis good enough for thee. Ill befal the yellow flowers, Children of the flaring hours! Buttercups, that will be seen, Whether we will see or no; Others, too, of lofty mien; They have done as worldlings do, Taken praise that should be thine, Little, humble Celandine! Prophet of delight and mirth, Ill-requited upon earth; Herald of a mighty band, Of a joyous train ensuing, Serving at my heart's command, Tasks that are no tasks renewing, I will sing, as doth behove, Hymns in praise of what I love! Contents 1802 Main Contents |
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1807 |
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Common Pilewort.—W. W. 1807.
The following stanza was inserted in the editions of
1836-1843:
'Drawn by what peculiar spell,
By what charm for sight or smell,
Do those wingèd dim-eyed creatures,
Labourers sent from waxen cells,
Settle on thy brilliant features,
In neglect of buds and bells
Opening daily at thy side,
By the season multiplied?'
In 1845 it was transferred to the following poem, where it will be
found, with a change of text.—Ed.
To the Same Flower
Composed May 1, 1802.—Published 1807
One of the "Poems of the Fancy."—Ed.
The Poem
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| Pleasures newly found are sweet When they lie about our feet: February last, my heart First at sight of thee was glad; All unheard of as thou art, Thou must needs, I think, have had, Celandine! and long ago, Praise of which I nothing know. I have not a doubt but he, Whosoe'er the man might be, Who the first with pointed rays (Workman worthy to be sainted) Set the sign-board in a blaze, When the rising sun he painted, Took the fancy from a glance At thy glittering countenance. Soon as gentle breezes bring News of winter's vanishing, And the children build their bowers, Sticking 'kerchief-plots of mould All about with full-blown flowers, Thick as sheep in shepherd's fold! With the proudest thou art there, Mantling in the tiny square. Often have I sighed to measure By myself a lonely pleasure, Sighed to think, I read a book Only read, perhaps, by me; Yet I long could overlook Thy bright coronet and Thee, And thy arch and wily ways, And thy store of other praise. Blithe of heart, from week to week Thou dost play at hide-and-seek; While the patient primrose sits Like a beggar in the cold, Thou, a flower of wiser wits, Slip'st into thy sheltering hold; Liveliest of the vernal train When ye all are out again. Drawn by what peculiar spell, By what charm of sight or smell, Does the dim-eyed curious Bee, Labouring for her waxen cells, Fondly settle upon Thee Prized above all buds and bells Opening daily at thy side, By the season multiplied? Thou art not beyond the moon, But a thing "beneath our shoon:" Let the bold Discoverer thrid In his bark the polar sea; Rear who will a pyramid; Praise it is enough for me, If there be but three or four Who will love my little Flower. Note Contents 1802 Main Contents |
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