mere. patron of Coleridge.
5. Probably an undergarment covering the chest. 7. Coleridge's daughter, Sara (1802-1852).
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40 2 / DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
from it?the sun shone now & then, & there was no wind, but all things looked chearless & distinct, no meltings of sky into mountains?the mountains like stone-work wrought up with huge hammers.?Last Sunday was as mild a day as I ever remember?We all set off together to walk. I went to Rydale & Wm returned with me. M & S8 went round the Lakes. There were flowers of various kinds the topmost bell of a fox-glove, geraniums, daisies?a buttercup in the water (but this I saw two or three days before) small yellow flowers (I do not know their name) in the turf a large bunch of strawberry blossoms. Wm sate a while with me, then went to meet M. & S.?Last Saturday I dined at Mr Simpson's also a beautiful mild day. Monday was a frosty day, & it has been frost ever since. On Saturday I dined with Mrs Simpson. It is today Christmas- day Saturday 25th December 1802. I am 31 years of age.?It is a dull frosty day.
1800-02 1897
Grasmere?A Fragment
Peaceful our valley, fair and green. And beautiful her cottages, Each in its nook, its sheltered hold, Or underneath its tuft of trees.
5 Many and beautiful they are; But there is one that I love best, A lowly shed, in truth, it is, A brother of the rest.
Yet when I sit on rock or hill,
10 Down looking on the valley fair, That Cottage with its clustering trees Summons my heart; it settles there.
Others there are whose small domain Of fertile fields and hedgerows green 15 Might more seduce a wanderer's mind To wish that there his home had been.
Such wish be his! I blame him not, My fancies they perchance are wild ?I love that house because it is
20 The very Mountains' child.
Fields hath it of its own, green fields, But they are rocky steep and bare; Their fence is of the mountain stone, And moss and lichen flourish there.
8. Mary and her sister Sara Hutchinson.
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GRASMERE? A FRAGMENT / 40 3 25 And when the storm comes from the North It lingers near that pastoral spot, And, piping through the mossy walls, It seems delighted with its lot. 30And let it take its own delight; And let it range the pastures bare; Until it reach that group of trees, ?It may not enter there! 35A green unfading grove it is, Skirted with many a lesser tree, Hazel and holly, beech and oak, A bright and flourishing company. 40Precious the shelter of those trees; They screen the cottage that I love; The sunshine pierces to the roof, And the tall pine- trees tower above. When first I saw that dear abode, It was a lovely winter's day: After a night of perilous storm The west wind ruled with gentle sway; 45 A day so mild, it might have been The first day of the gladsome spring; The robins warbled, and I heard One solitary throstle sing. 50A Stranger, Grasmere, in thy Vale, All faces then to me unknown, I left my sole companion-friend To wander out alone. 55Lured by a little winding path, I quitted soon the public road, A smooth and tempting path it was, By sheep and shepherds trod. 60Eastward, toward the lofty hills, This pathway led me on Until I reached a stately Rock, With velvet moss o'ergrown. With russet oak and tufts of fern Its top was richly garlanded; Its sides adorned with eglantine Bedropp'd with hips of glossy red. 65 There, too, in many a sheltered chink The foxglove's broad leaves flourished fair, And silver birch whose purple twigs Bend to the softest breathing air.
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40 4 / DOROTHY WORDSWORTH
Beneath that Rock my course I stayed,
70 And, looking to its summit high, 'Thou wear'st,' said I, 'a splendid garb, Here winter keeps his revelry.
'Full long a dweller on the Plains, I griev'd when summer days were gone; 75 No more I'll grieve; for Winter here Hath pleasure gardens of his own.
'What need of flowers? The splendid moss Is gayer than an April mead; More rich its hues of various green,
so Orange, and gold, & glittering red.'
?Beside that gay and lovely Rock There came with merry voice A foaming streamlet glancing by; It seemed to say 'Rejoice!'
85 My youthful wishes all fulfill'd, Wishes matured by thoughtful choice, I stood an Inmate of this vale How could I but rejoice?
ca. 1802-05 1892
Thoughts on My Sick-Bed1
And has the remnant of my life Been pilfered of this sunny Spring? And have its own prelusive sounds Touched in my heart no echoing string?
5 Ah! say not so?the hidden life Couchant? within this feeble frame lyingHath been enriched by kindred gifts, That, undesired, unsought-for, came
With joyful heart in youthful days io When fresh each season in its Round I welcomed the earliest Celandine Glittering upon the mossy ground;
