Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2Wordsworth, William
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Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 2
Wordsworth, William
English poetry -- 19th century
When near this blasted tree you pass,
Two sods are plainly to be seen
Close at its root, and each with grass
Is cover'd fresh and green.
Like turf upon a new-made grave
These two green sods together lie,
Nor heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor wind
Can these two sods together bind,
Nor sun, nor earth, nor sky,
But side by side the two are laid,
As if just sever'd by the spade.
There sits he: in his face you spy
No trace of a ferocious air,
Nor ever was a cloudless sky
So steady or so fair.
The lovely Danish Boy is blest
And happy in his flowery cove;
From bloody deeds his thoughts are far;
And yet he warbles songs of war;
They seem like songs of love,
For calm and gentle is his mien;
Like a dead Boy he is serene.
POEMS ON THE
_NAMING OF PLACES_.
ADVERTISEMENT.
By Persons resident in the country and attached to rural objects,
many places will be found unnamed or of unknown names, where little
Incidents will have occurred, or feelings been experienced, which
will have given to such places a private and peculiar interest. From
a wish to give some sort of record to such Incidents or renew the
gratification of such Feelings, Names have been given to Places by
the Author and some of his Friends, and the following Poems written
in consequence.
_POEMS on the NAMING of PLACES_.
1.
It was an April Morning: fresh and clear
The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
Ran with a young man's speed, and yet the voice
Of waters which the winter had supplied
Was soften'd down into a vernal tone.
The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
And hopes and wishes, from all living things
Went circling, like a multitude of sounds.
The budding groves appear'd as if in haste
To spur the steps of June; as if their shades
Of various green were hindrances that stood
Between them and their object: yet, meanwhile,
There was such deep contentment in the air
That every naked ash, and tardy tree
Yet leafless, seem'd as though the countenance
With which it look'd on this delightful day
Were native to the summer.--Up the brook
I roam'd in the confusion of my heart,
Alive to all things and forgetting all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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