I
repeated
'The Glowworm' as I
walked along.
walked along.
William Wordsworth
"--Ed.
The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun; 5
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one! 10
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon: [A] 15
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone! 20
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: This line was an afterthought. --Ed. ]
The text of this poem was never altered. It was not "written in March"
(as the title states), but on the 16th of April (Good Friday) 1802. The
bridge referred to crosses Goldrill Beck, a little below Hartsop in
Patterdale. The following, from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, records
the walk from Ullswater, over Kirkstone Pass, to Ambleside:
"Friday, 16th April (Good Friday). --. . . When we came to the foot of
Brothers Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along
the path on the right side of the lake through the wood. I was
delighted with what I saw: the water under the boughs of the bare old
trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of
the path. There was one grey cottage.
I repeated 'The Glowworm' as I
walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed
for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive
of the sights and sounds we saw and heard. There was the gentle
flowing of the stream, the glittering lively lake, green fields,
without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat
pasture with forty-two cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading
to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The
people were at work, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing; lasses working;
a dog barking now and then; cocks crowing, birds twittering; the snow
in patches at the top of the highest hills; yellow palms, purple and
green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite
bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak. The
moss of the oaks glossy. . . . As we went up the vale of Brothers Water,
more and more cattle feeding, a hundred of them. William finished his
poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone. There were hundreds of
cattle in the vale. . .
The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun; 5
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one! 10
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Ploughboy is whooping--anon--anon: [A] 15
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone! 20
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE ON THE TEXT
[Footnote A: This line was an afterthought. --Ed. ]
The text of this poem was never altered. It was not "written in March"
(as the title states), but on the 16th of April (Good Friday) 1802. The
bridge referred to crosses Goldrill Beck, a little below Hartsop in
Patterdale. The following, from Dorothy Wordsworth's Journal, records
the walk from Ullswater, over Kirkstone Pass, to Ambleside:
"Friday, 16th April (Good Friday). --. . . When we came to the foot of
Brothers Water, I left William sitting on the bridge, and went along
the path on the right side of the lake through the wood. I was
delighted with what I saw: the water under the boughs of the bare old
trees, the simplicity of the mountains, and the exquisite beauty of
the path. There was one grey cottage.
I repeated 'The Glowworm' as I
walked along. I hung over the gate, and thought I could have stayed
for ever. When I returned, I found William writing a poem descriptive
of the sights and sounds we saw and heard. There was the gentle
flowing of the stream, the glittering lively lake, green fields,
without a living creature to be seen on them; behind us, a flat
pasture with forty-two cattle feeding; to our left, the road leading
to the hamlet. No smoke there, the sun shone on the bare roofs. The
people were at work, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing; lasses working;
a dog barking now and then; cocks crowing, birds twittering; the snow
in patches at the top of the highest hills; yellow palms, purple and
green twigs on the birches, ashes with their glittering stems quite
bare. The hawthorn a bright green, with black stems under the oak. The
moss of the oaks glossy. . . . As we went up the vale of Brothers Water,
more and more cattle feeding, a hundred of them. William finished his
poem before we got to the foot of Kirkstone. There were hundreds of
cattle in the vale. . .
