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To The Daisy (first poem)
(William Wordsworth)

IN youth from rock to rock I went
From hill to hill in discontent
Of pleasure high and turbulent,
Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make,---
Thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly Nature's love partake,
Of Thee, sweet Daisy!

Thee Winter in the garland wears
That thinly decks his few gray hairs;
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs,
That she may sun thee;
Whole Summer-fields are thine by right;
And Autumn, melancholy Wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight
When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands, a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane;
Pleased at his greeting thee again;
Yet nothing daunted,
Nor grieved if thou be set at nought:
And oft alone in nooks remote
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,
When such are wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews
The flowers the wanton Zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dew
Her head impearling,
Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame;
Thou art indeed by many a claim
The Poet's darling.

If to a rock from rain he fly,
Or, some bright day of April sky,
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie
Near the green holly,
And wearily at length should fare;
He need but look about, and there
Thou art!---a friend at hand, to care
His melancholy.

A hundred times, by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some apprehension
Some steady love; some brief delight;
Some memory that had taken flight;
Some chime of fancy wrong or right;
Of stray invention.

If stately passions in me burn,
And one chance look to Thee should turn,
I drink out of an humbler urn
A lowlier pleasure;
The homely sympathy that heeds
The common life, our nature breeds;
A wisdom fitted to the needs
Of hearts at leisure.

Fresh-smitten by the morning ray,
When thou art up, alert and gay,
Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play
With kindred gladness:
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast
Of careful sadness.

And all day long I number yet,
All seasons through, another debt,
Which I, wherever thou art met,
To thee am owing;
An instinct call it, a blind sense;
A happy, genial influence,
Coming one knows not how, nor whence,
Nor whither going.

Child of the Year! that round dost run
Thy pleasant course,---when day's begun
As ready to salute the sun
As lark or leveret,
Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain;
Nor be less dear to future men
Than in old time;---thou not in vain
Art Nature's favourite.


Poems/ Poetry / Quotations by William Wordsworth
 Childless Father, The | Composed During a Storm | 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 | A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones and Crags, | "She Dwelt Among Untrodden Ways" | She was a phantom of delight | "Surprised by Joy--Impatient as the Wind" | "'Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love" | "With Ships the Sea was Sprinkled Far and Nigh," | A Poet! He Hath Put his Heart to School | A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal | By the Seaside | Daffodils | Goody Blake and Harry Gill | Idiot Boy, The | Inscriptions Written with a Slate Pencil upon a Stone | It is not to be Thought of | Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots | Laodamia | Memory | Mutability | My Heart Leaps Up | O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art | September, 1819 | Oak and The Broom, The: A Pastoral Poem | Ode Composed On A May Morning | On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott from Abbotsford | Resolution and Independence | Reverie of Poor Susan, The | Rural Architecture | Russian Fugitive, The | Ruth | Solitary Reaper, The | Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle upon the Restoration of Lord Clifford, the Shepherd, to the Estates and Honours of his Ancestors | Song For The Wandering Jew | Sparrow's Nest, The | Surprised by Joy | French Revolution as it appeared to Enthusiasts, The | Power of Armies Is a Visible Thing, The | Prelude, The - (Book 1) | Prelude, The - (Book 4) | Reaper, The | 'Tis Said, That Some Have Died For Love | There is an Eminence of these our hills | Wishing Gate, The | Seven Sisters, The (OR Solitude of Binnorie, The) | Sonnet, The (ii) | Shepherd Looking Eastward Softly Said, The | To A Butterfly (second poem) | To M.H. | To May | To The Daisy (second poem) | To The Daisy (third poem) | Two April Mornings, 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 in March | Written With a Pencil Upon a Stone In The Wall of The House, On The Island at Grasmere | Yarrow Unvisited | Yarrow Visited |


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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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