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Complaint Of A Forsaken Indian Woman, The
(William Wordsworth)

Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!
In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars, they were among my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive;
Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain:
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,
For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;
But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie
Alone, I cannot fear to die.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one!
Too soon I yielded to despair;
Why did ye listen to my prayer
When ye were gone my limb were stronger;
And oh, how grievously I rue,
That, afterward, a little longer,
My friends, I did not follow you!
For strong and without pain I lay,
Dear friends, when ye were gone away.

My Child! they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my Babe they took,
On me how strangely did he look !
Through his whole body something ran,
A most strange working did I see;
---As if he strove to be a man,
That he might pull the sledge for me:
And then he stretched his arm, how wild!
Oh mercy! like a helpless child.

My little joy! my little pride!
In two day more I must have died.
Then do not weep and grieve for me;
I feel I must have died with thee.
O wind, that o'er my head art flying
The way my friends their course did bend,
I should not feel the pain of dying,
Could I with thee a message end;
Too soon, my friend, ye went away;
For I had many thing to say.

I'll follow you across the snow;
Ye travel heavily and slow;
In spite of all my weary pain
I'll look upon your tent again.
---My fire is dead, and snowy white
The water which beside it stood:
The wolf has come to me to-night,
And he has stolen away my food.
Forever left alone am I;
Then wherefore should I fear to die ?

Young as I am, my course is run,
I shall not see another sun;
I cannot lift my limb to know
If they have any life or no.
My poor forsaken child, if I
For once could have thee close to me,
With happy heart I then would die,
And my last thought would happy be;
But thou, dear Babe, art far away,
Nor shall I see another day.


Poems/ Poetry / Quotations by William Wordsworth
 Address To The Scholars Of The Village School Of ---- | Anecdote For Fathers | Character Of The Happy Warrior | Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 | Desideria | Elegiac Stanzas Suggested By A Picture Of Peele Castle In A Storm, Painted By Sir George Beaumont | Ellen Irwin | England, 1802 iv | She was a phantom of delight | "The World Is Too Much With Us; Late and Soon" | "There is an Eminence,--of these our hills" | A Character | A Complaint | A Night Thought | A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School | After-Thought | By the Seaside | Forsaken, The | Goody Blake and Harry Gill | Green Linnet, The | Guilt and Sorrow | Idiot Boy, The | Idle Shepherd Boys, The | Influence of Natural Objects | Laodamia | Lines written as a School Exercise at Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis | London, 1802 | Lucy Gray | Lucy ii | November, 1806 | Nutting | O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art | Seven Sisters, The | October, 1803 | Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood | On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford | On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic | Peter Bell, A Tale | Pet-Lamb, The: A Pastoral Poem | Remembrance of Collins | Ruth | Song For The Wandering Jew | Strange Fits of Passion Have I Known | Longest Day, The | Prelude, The - (Book 2) | Prelude, The - (Book 4) | Reaper, The | 'Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love | Table Turned, The | There is an Eminence of these our hills | Trosachs, The | Seven Sisters, The (OR Solitude of Binnorie, The) | Sonnet, The (i) | To A Butterfly (second poem) | To a Highland Girl (At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond) | To a Skylark | To May | To My Sister | To The Cuckoo | Two April Mornings, The | Two Thieves, The | We are Seven | With How Sad Steps, O Moon, Thou Climb'st the Sky | With ships the sea was sprinkled | Written in Early Spring | Written in Germany, On One of The Coldest Days Of The Century | Written With a Pencil Upon a Stone In The Wall of The House, On The Island at Grasmere |


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Many great poems where created by English Poets in Cumbrias Lake District Areas and Villages such as Grasmere, Buttermere, Bowness, Kendal, Windermere, Keswick and Coniston.
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