Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)Wordsworth, Dorothy
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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
Wordsworth, Dorothy
Authors, English -- 19th century -- Diaries; Wordsworth, Dorothy, 1771-1855 -- Diaries; Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850 -- Family
_Tuesday._-- ... William went up into the orchard, ... and wrote a part
of _The Emigrant Mother_. After dinner I read him to sleep. I read
Spenser.... We walked to look at Rydale. The moon was a good height
above the mountains. She seemed far distant in the sky. There were two
stars beside her, that twinkled in and out, and seemed almost like
butterflies in motion and lightness. They looked to be far nearer to us
than the moon.
_Wednesday._--William went up into the orchard and finished the poem. I
went and sate with W. and walked backwards and forwards in the orchard
till dinner time. He read me his poem. I read to him, and my Beloved
slept. A sweet evening as it had been a sweet day, and I walked quietly
along the side of Rydale lake with quiet thoughts--the hills and the
lake were still--the owls had not begun to hoot, and the little birds
had given over singing. I looked before me and saw a red light upon
Silver How as if coming out of the vale below,
There was a light of most strange birth,
A light that came out of the earth,
And spread along the dark hill-side.
Thus I was going on when I saw the shape of my Beloved in the road at a
little distance. We turned back to see the light but it was
fading--almost gone. The owls hooted when we sate on the wall at the
foot of White Moss; the sky broke more and more, and we saw the moon now
and then. John Gill passed us with his cart; we sate on. When we came in
sight of our own dear Grasmere, the vale looked fair and quiet in the
moonshine, the Church was there and all the cottages. There were huge
slow-travelling clouds in the sky, that threw large masses of shade upon
some of the mountains. We walked backwards and forwards, between home
and Olliff's, till I was tired. William kindled, and began to write the
poem. We carried cloaks into the orchard, and sate a while there. I left
him, and he nearly finished the poem. I was tired to death, and went to
bed before him. He came down to me, and read the poem to me in bed. A
sailor begged here to-day, going to Glasgow. He spoke cheerfully in a
sweet tone.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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