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Variant 8:
 
1827
... car'd not for its home— ...
 1809
... cares not ...
1815
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Variant 9:
 
1840
... loud bellowing ...
1809
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Variant 10:
 
1836
Meanwhile ...
 1809
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Variant 11:
 
1845
... while the distant hills
 1809
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Variant 12:
 
1827
To cut across the image ...
1809
To cross the bright reflection ...
 1820
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Variant 13:
 
1820
That gleam'd upon the ice; and oftentimes
1809 (This line occupied the place
of lines 51-52 of the final text.)
That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes,
The Prelude, 1850.
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Variant 14:
 
1809
... as a dreamless sleep.
 The Prelude, 1850.
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Footnote A:
 
The title of the fragment, as it appeared in The Friend, No. 19, (Dec. 28, 1809,) was Growth of Genius from the Influences of Natural Objects on the Imagination, in Boyhood and Early Youth. It first appeared in Wordsworth's Poems in the edition of 1815. It was afterwards included in the first book of The Prelude, l. 401.

The lake referred to with its "silent bays" and "shadowy banks" is that of Esthwaite; the village clock is that of Hawkshead (see the footnotes to The Prelude). The only physical accomplishment in which Wordsworth thought he excelled was skating, an accomplishment in which his brother poet and acquaintance, Klopstock, also excelled.—Ed.

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1799 Contents
Main Contents



The Simplon PassA

Composed 1799.—Published 1845

Included among the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.





The Poem


text variant footnote line number
        —Brook and road
Were fellow-travellers in this gloomy Pass,
And with them did we journey several hours
At a slow step. The immeasurable height
Of woods decaying, never to be decayed,
The stationary blasts of waterfalls,
And in the narrow rent, at every turn,
Winds thwarting winds bewildered and forlorn,
The torrents shooting from the clear blue sky,
The rocks that muttered close upon our ears,
Black drizzling crags that spake by the wayside
As if a voice were in them, the sick sight
And giddy prospect of the raving stream,
The unfettered clouds and region of the heavens,
Tumult and peace, the darkness and the light—
Were all like workings of one mind, the features
Of the same face, blossoms upon one tree,
Characters of the great Apocalypse,
The types and symbols of Eternity,
Of first, and last, and midst, and without end.



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Variant 1:
 
1845
... gloomy strait,
 The Prelude, 1850
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Variant 2:
 
1845
... pace ...
 The Prelude, 1850
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Footnote A:
 
This is an extract from the sixth book of The Prelude, l. 621. It refers to Wordsworth's first experience of Switzerland, when he crossed the Alps by the Simplon route, in 1790, in company with his friend Robert Jones.—Ed.

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1799 Contents
Main Contents



Nutting

Composed 1799.—Published 1800

The Poem


[Written in Germany; intended as part of a poem on my own life, but struck out as not being wanted there. Like most of my schoolfellows I was an impassioned Nutter. For this pleasure, the Vale of Esthwaite, abounding in coppice wood, furnished a very wide range. These verses arose out of the remembrance of feelings I had often had when a boy, and particularly in the extensive woods that still stretch from the side of Esthwaite Lake towards Graythwaite, the seat of the ancient family of Sandys.—I. F.]


One of the "Poems of the Imagination."—Ed.





The Poem


text variant footnote line number
        —It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame—
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And—with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.



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Variant 1:
 
1836
... which ...
1800
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Variant 2:
 
This line was added in the edition of 1827.
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Variant 3:
 
1827
When forth I sallied from our cottage-door,
1800
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Variant 4:
 
1832
And with a wallet o'er my shoulder slung,
 1800
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulder slung,
 1815
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Variant 5:
 
1815
... I turn'd ...
 1800
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Variant 6:
 
1836
Towards the distant woods, ...
 1800
Toward ...
 1832
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Variant 7:
 
1815
... of Beggar's weeds
Put on for the occasion, by advice
And exhortation ...

1800
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Variant 8:
 
1836
... Among the woods,
And o'er the pathless rocks, I forc'd my way
Until, at length, I came ...


1800
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Variant 9:
 
1845
... milk-white clusters ...
 1800
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Variant 10:
 
1845
... beneath ...
1800
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Variant 11:
 
1836
Even then, when from the bower I turn'd away,
1800
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Variant 12:
 
1836
... and the intruding sky.—
 1800
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Footnote A:
  The house at which I was boarded during the time I was at School.—W. W. 1800.

return to footnote mark





Note:
 
The woods round Esthwaite Lake have undergone considerable change since Wordsworth's school-days at Hawkshead; but hazel coppice is still abundant to the south and west of the Lake.—Ed.



1799 Contents
Main Contents



Written in Germany, on one of the Coldest Days of the Century

Composed 1799.—Published 1800

The Poem


I must apprize the Reader that the stoves in North Germany generally have the impression of a galloping Horse upon them, this being part of the Brunswick Arms.—W. W. 1800.


[A bitter winter it was when these verses were composed by the side of my sister, in our lodgings at a draper's house, in the romantic imperial town of Goslar, on the edge of the Hartz Forest. In this town the German emperors of the Franconian Line were accustomed to keep their court, and it retains vestiges of ancient splendour. So severe was the cold of this winter, that when we passed out of the parlour warmed by the stove, our cheeks were struck by the air as by cold iron. I slept in a room over a passage that was not ceiled. The people of the house used to say rather unfeelingly, that they expected I should be frozen to death some night; but with the protection of a pelisse lined with fur, and a dog's skin bonnet, such as was worn by the peasants, I walked daily on the ramparts, or on a sort of public ground or garden, in which was a pond. Here I had no companion but a kingfisher, a beautiful creature that used to glance by me. I consequently became much attached to it. During these walks I composed the poem that follows, A Poet's Epitaph.—I. F.]


return to note after The Poet's Epitaph.


One of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection." Wordsworth originally gave to this poem the title "The Fly," but erased it before publication.—Ed.





The Poem


text variant footnote line number
A plague on your languages, German and Norse!
Let me have the song of the kettle;
And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse
That gallops away with such fury and force
On this dreary dull plate of black metal.

See that Fly,—a disconsolate creature! perhaps
A child of the field or the grove;
And, sorrow for him! the dull treacherous heat
Has seduced the poor fool from his winter retreat,
And he creeps to the edge of my stove.

Alas! how he fumbles about the domains
Which this comfortless oven environ!
He cannot find out in what track he must crawl,
Now back to the tiles, then in search of the wall,
And now on the brink of the iron.

Stock-still there he stands like a traveller bemazed:
The best of his skill he has tried;
His feelers, methinks, I can see him put forth
To the east and the west, to the south and the north
But he finds neither guide-post nor guide.

His spindles sink under him, foot, leg, and thigh!
His eyesight and hearing are lost;
Between life and death his blood freezes and thaws;
And his two pretty pinions of blue dusky gauze
Are glued to his sides by the frost.

No brother, no mate has he near him—while I
Can draw warmth from the cheek of my Love;
As blest and as glad, in this desolate gloom,
As if green summer grass were the floor of my room,
And woodbines were hanging above.

Yet, God is my witness, thou small helpless Thing!
Thy life I would gladly sustain
Till summer come up from the south, and with crowds
Of thy brethren a march thou should'st sound through the clouds.
And back to the forests again!



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Variant 1:
 
1820
A fig for ...
 1800
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Variant 2:
 
1800
On his ...
1827
The text of 1837 returns to that of 1800.

return



Variant 3:
 
Our earth is no doubt made of excellent stuff,
But her pulses beat slower and slower,
The weather in Forty was cutting and rough,
And then, as Heaven knows, the glass stood low enough,
And now it is four degrees lower.