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William Wordsworth biography :

Coming soon

   
   
 

Poems by William Wordsworth :

A Wren's Nest

Anecdote For Fathers

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots

Lines Written In Early Spring

Ode Composed On A May Morning

Ode On Intimations Of Immortality

A Wrens Nest by William Wordsworth

A Wren's Nest by William Wordsworth

Anecdote For Fathers by William Wordsworth

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge by William Wordsworth

Daffodils a poem by William Wordsworth

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth

Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth

Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth

London, 1802 by William Wordsworth

Ode Composed On A May Morning by William Wordsworth

Ode On Intimations Of Immortality by William Wordsworth

Perfect Woman by William Wordsworth

Resolution And Independence by William Wordsworth

The Best Portion Of A Good Mans Life by William Wordsworth

The Best Portion Of A Good Man's Life by William Wordsworth

To the Pennsylvanians by William Wordsworth

Written In March by William Wordsworth

 


 
 

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A Wrens Nest by William Wordsworth

Among the dwellings framed by birds
In field or forest with nice care,
Is none that with the little Wren's
In snugness may compare.

No door the tenement requires,
And seldom needs a laboured roof;
Yet is it to the fiercest sun
Impervious, and storm-proof.

So warm, so beautiful withal,
In perfect fitness for its aim,
That to the Kind by special grace
Their instinct surely came.

And when for their abodes they seek
An opportune recess,
The hermit has no finer eye
For shadowy quietness.

These find, 'mid ivied abbey-walls,
A canopy in some still nook;
Others are pent-housed by a brae
That overhangs a brook.

There to the brooding bird her mate
Warbles by fits his low clear song;
And by the busy streamlet both
Are sung to all day long.

Or in sequestered lanes they build,
Where, till the flitting bird's return,
Her eggs within the nest repose,
Like relics in an urn.

But still, where general choice is good,
There is a better and a best;
And, among fairest objects, some
Are fairer than the rest;

This, one of those small builders proved
In a green covert, where, from out
The forehead of a pollard oak,
The leafy antlers sprout;

For She who planned the mossy lodge,
Mistrusting her evasive skill,
Had to a Primrose looked for aid
Her wishes to fulfill.

High on the trunk's projecting brow,
And fixed an infant's span above
The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest
The prettiest of the grove!

The treasure proudly did I show
To some whose minds without disdain
Can turn to little things; but once
Looked up for it in vain:

'Tis gone---a ruthless spoiler's prey,
Who heeds not beauty, love, or song,
'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved
Indignant at the wrong.

Just three days after, passing by
In clearer light the moss-built cell
I saw, espied its shaded mouth;
And felt that all was well.

The Primrose for a veil had spread
The largest of her upright leaves;
And thus, for purposes benign,
A simple flower deceives.

Concealed from friends who might disturb
Thy quiet with no ill intent,
Secure from evil eyes and hands
On barbarous plunder bent,

Rest, Mother-bird! and when thy young
Take flight, and thou art free to roam,
When withered is the guardian Flower,
And empty thy late home,

Think how ye prospered, thou and thine,
Amid the unviolated grove
Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft
In foresight, or in love.