What do you think?
Rate this book
The Works of William Wordsworth
William Wordsworth (1771-1850) is the foremost of the English Romantic poets. He was much influenced by the events of the French Revolution in his youth, and he deliberately broke away from the artificial diction of the Augustan and neo-classical tradition of the eighteenth century. He sought to write in the language of ordinary men and women, of ordinary thoughts, sights and sounds, and his early poetry represents this fresh approach to his art. Wordsworth spent most of his adult life in the Lake District with his sister Dorothy and his wife Mary, by whom he had four children. His remarkable autobiographical poem The Prelude was completed in 1805, but was not published until after his death, and it is included in this full edition of Wordsworth's poetry.
906 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1850
146 people are currently reading
3116 people want to read
About the author
William Wordsworth
2,165 books1,371 followersWilliam Wordsworth (1770-1850) was a major English romantic poet who, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped launch the Romantic Age in English literature with their 1798 joint publication, Lyrical Ballads.
Wordsworth's masterpiece is generally considered to be The Prelude, an autobiographical poem of his early years, which the poet revised and expanded a number of times. The work was posthumously titled and published, prior to which, it was generally known as the poem "to Coleridge". Wordsworth was England's Poet Laureate from 1843 until his death in 1850.
Wordsworth's masterpiece is generally considered to be The Prelude, an autobiographical poem of his early years, which the poet revised and expanded a number of times. The work was posthumously titled and published, prior to which, it was generally known as the poem "to Coleridge". Wordsworth was England's Poet Laureate from 1843 until his death in 1850.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 56 reviews
December 12, 2012
Before I read this book, Daffodils was my favourite Wordsworth poem.
Now, after reading 900 pages of Wordsworth, Daffodils is still my favourite of his poems!
Though, now I have a second favourite. Here it is:
To A Butterfly
I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
About half of the poems are short, and half are longer epics.
Now, after reading 900 pages of Wordsworth, Daffodils is still my favourite of his poems!
Though, now I have a second favourite. Here it is:
To A Butterfly
I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless! - not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
About half of the poems are short, and half are longer epics.
May 16, 2009
"I wandered lonely as a cloud" was the first line of poetry that spoke to me personally. My first introduction to poetry were psalms: Bible and Shakespeare. Then I ran across this poem and it changed my reading life forever.
November 16, 2021
I've finally managed to finish this 1000 plus page book of all of Wordsworth's work. The problem is, only maybe about a third of it is any good. There's just pages and pages that are forgettable and just plain bad. Harold bloom said wordsworth had about 10 years, where he wrote all his best and most important work and it's hard to disagree. But, when Wordsworth is good he's great, there are some things in here that are as perfect as you can get, perfect poetry. Highlights ~ "My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold" "We Are Seven" "The Longest Day" "Strange Fits Of Passion Have I Known" "She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways" "To a Skylark" "Love Lies Bleeding" "Nutting " "She Was a Phantom Of Delight" "Star-Gazers" "Tintern Abbey" "Peter Bell" "The World Is too Much With Us" "The Solitary Reaper" "The Cuckoo at Laverna" "Tradition" "The White Doe Of Rylstone" "The Tables Turned" and "Ode: Intimations Of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood".
December 26, 2024
Oh my literal hell
May 30, 2025
I acquired this whopper approximately 9 years ago, and up until March 2025, I had only read a leisurely 250 pages. Finally got down to it and finished it for good, and I must say that, though it was worth it in order to form a complete picture of Wordsworth, there's a lot in here that I'm unlikely to revisit again.
One way to characterise Wordsworth would be to call him an inspired monk. It seemed like Nature was there especially to remind one of God and his glory, much like it was for the medievals like Bonaventura, allowing one to ascend from one rung to another to the empyrean. Except that with Wordsworth, these rungs could be flowers and his empyrean a reflection upon a lake. And I am not saying this in scorn: his best poetry emits the calming glow of a cloistral taper, silently shedding light into the ambient gloom, calling the reader to meditate upon the fine, soul-uplifting delicacies of the world. The sheer insistence with which he zooms in on skylarks, cuckoos, daffodils, hawthorns, ferns, tufts, even insects, and clothes them in pristine poesy, finding in them both a secret illumination and a symbol of greater powers, is, at its best, life-affirming. I am a sucker for nature poetry anyway, and Wordsworth is a master at what he is doing: rarely does it feel like he is stumbling, or disfiguring the page with horrendous doggerel, or even overusing rhymes. For all his prolificacy, his poetic sense did not seem to grow dull throughout the decades.
Wordsworth also goes further than your medieval monks in terms of chronicling the life sublunary. He could deliciously twine psychological states with the objects of his art, imbuing the little plants with a sense of human mystery (especially showcased in "The Prelude"). Nor was he loth to speak in favour of the unlearned and uncouth, having more sympathy towards the homely and simple than towards the learned and the ambitious. And despite being a great Romantic who had witnessed the horrors of French Revolution and the subsequent reign of terror, and the concomitant moral dilemmas (being a patriotic Brit), his poetry never ceased to exude an air of sacral calm.
My biggest gripe with Wordsworth, however, is that, like the friars of yore, it seemed like he too was a truth-seeker who had already found what he had been looking for. If you're a Christian, it's just a matter of reaffirming the power and glory of God, time and again. And while some poems definitely cannot be reduced to being riddles of divine splendour, in many of the longer narrative poems all Wordsworth seems to do is to paint predictable pictures of God-fearing laymen, living in Christian hope and charity, in spite of their hard destinies.
While I admire Wordsworth's consistency, it baffles me as to why he thought that all these thinly veiled allegories were that inspiring. Their one-sidedness is made at times downright tedious due to the universal character of the narratives (for for Wordsworth, the universal was ever-worth attaining). People are described in the most lacklustre, exaggerated way, and whatever local colours Wordsworth must have seen during his rambles, are painted with the predictable brush of a Bunyan.
There were also many themes that I didn't find very engaging under Wordsworth's pen, such as the French struggles, European travel tales and dedications to lord-knows-whom. Also, in his longer works, one could get bored after a while, especially during the pitiless "Excursion", which is just a protracted sermon on Christian forbearance under the barrage of Fate. Of course, the themes are not the same as their poetic handling, but with Wordsworth, the message that shines through is sometimes so painfully obvious that a poem seems to turn into a puerile allegory.
There are plenty of commonalities between Wordsworth and Finland's national poet, Johan Ludvig Runeberg. Both wanted to step away from the purple diction and approach the everyday and the everyman in much more toned-down language. They sought to portray poor farmers and shepherds as Christian ideals, who despite their indigence had great hearts and were capable of greater acts than your battlefield generals. For them both, the nature was an open book, where one could read edifying tales. To a lesser extent, both also nursed a curiosity towards the natural purity of the pagan times, even if there never was a question of the true Christian loyalty of either poet. Both were also stout patriots.
But where they differ is that, of course, Runeberg was a propagandist that helped to create the myth of a loyal but poor Finn, ever-willing to sacrifice themselves for their fatherland. But more importantly, whereas Runeberg's diction was usually rather trite, Wordsworth's wasn't. Upon encountering a flower, Runeberg would easily content himself with dull, matter-of-fact musings on evanescence, while Wordsworth would encase the little plant in the most splendid crystal, evoking both the refreshing morning air and the giddy teeming calm that the outdoors never cease to deliver in droves.
For, despite his shortcomings, Wordsworth is a superb craftsman who helped to create the Arcadia of English poetry: the Nature that could never exist but in poetry but that continues to shine forth its sorcery from the page unto the light of day, sanctifying the busy world with waves of beauty.
(These 1,000+ pages-long compilations are unfair on most poets anyway, since they present the works in an overwhelming abundance, rarely intended as the ideal context by the artist themselves.)
One way to characterise Wordsworth would be to call him an inspired monk. It seemed like Nature was there especially to remind one of God and his glory, much like it was for the medievals like Bonaventura, allowing one to ascend from one rung to another to the empyrean. Except that with Wordsworth, these rungs could be flowers and his empyrean a reflection upon a lake. And I am not saying this in scorn: his best poetry emits the calming glow of a cloistral taper, silently shedding light into the ambient gloom, calling the reader to meditate upon the fine, soul-uplifting delicacies of the world. The sheer insistence with which he zooms in on skylarks, cuckoos, daffodils, hawthorns, ferns, tufts, even insects, and clothes them in pristine poesy, finding in them both a secret illumination and a symbol of greater powers, is, at its best, life-affirming. I am a sucker for nature poetry anyway, and Wordsworth is a master at what he is doing: rarely does it feel like he is stumbling, or disfiguring the page with horrendous doggerel, or even overusing rhymes. For all his prolificacy, his poetic sense did not seem to grow dull throughout the decades.
Wordsworth also goes further than your medieval monks in terms of chronicling the life sublunary. He could deliciously twine psychological states with the objects of his art, imbuing the little plants with a sense of human mystery (especially showcased in "The Prelude"). Nor was he loth to speak in favour of the unlearned and uncouth, having more sympathy towards the homely and simple than towards the learned and the ambitious. And despite being a great Romantic who had witnessed the horrors of French Revolution and the subsequent reign of terror, and the concomitant moral dilemmas (being a patriotic Brit), his poetry never ceased to exude an air of sacral calm.
My biggest gripe with Wordsworth, however, is that, like the friars of yore, it seemed like he too was a truth-seeker who had already found what he had been looking for. If you're a Christian, it's just a matter of reaffirming the power and glory of God, time and again. And while some poems definitely cannot be reduced to being riddles of divine splendour, in many of the longer narrative poems all Wordsworth seems to do is to paint predictable pictures of God-fearing laymen, living in Christian hope and charity, in spite of their hard destinies.
While I admire Wordsworth's consistency, it baffles me as to why he thought that all these thinly veiled allegories were that inspiring. Their one-sidedness is made at times downright tedious due to the universal character of the narratives (for for Wordsworth, the universal was ever-worth attaining). People are described in the most lacklustre, exaggerated way, and whatever local colours Wordsworth must have seen during his rambles, are painted with the predictable brush of a Bunyan.
There were also many themes that I didn't find very engaging under Wordsworth's pen, such as the French struggles, European travel tales and dedications to lord-knows-whom. Also, in his longer works, one could get bored after a while, especially during the pitiless "Excursion", which is just a protracted sermon on Christian forbearance under the barrage of Fate. Of course, the themes are not the same as their poetic handling, but with Wordsworth, the message that shines through is sometimes so painfully obvious that a poem seems to turn into a puerile allegory.
There are plenty of commonalities between Wordsworth and Finland's national poet, Johan Ludvig Runeberg. Both wanted to step away from the purple diction and approach the everyday and the everyman in much more toned-down language. They sought to portray poor farmers and shepherds as Christian ideals, who despite their indigence had great hearts and were capable of greater acts than your battlefield generals. For them both, the nature was an open book, where one could read edifying tales. To a lesser extent, both also nursed a curiosity towards the natural purity of the pagan times, even if there never was a question of the true Christian loyalty of either poet. Both were also stout patriots.
But where they differ is that, of course, Runeberg was a propagandist that helped to create the myth of a loyal but poor Finn, ever-willing to sacrifice themselves for their fatherland. But more importantly, whereas Runeberg's diction was usually rather trite, Wordsworth's wasn't. Upon encountering a flower, Runeberg would easily content himself with dull, matter-of-fact musings on evanescence, while Wordsworth would encase the little plant in the most splendid crystal, evoking both the refreshing morning air and the giddy teeming calm that the outdoors never cease to deliver in droves.
For, despite his shortcomings, Wordsworth is a superb craftsman who helped to create the Arcadia of English poetry: the Nature that could never exist but in poetry but that continues to shine forth its sorcery from the page unto the light of day, sanctifying the busy world with waves of beauty.
(These 1,000+ pages-long compilations are unfair on most poets anyway, since they present the works in an overwhelming abundance, rarely intended as the ideal context by the artist themselves.)
November 6, 2013
The Old Sheep of the Lake District, Rumpole called him, and, as usual, Rumpole was right. There is great poetry here, salting an interminable field of twaddle.
September 11, 2020
Man of verse... the poetry of Wordsworth gets inside you instantly. Emotional. Intellectual. Soul.
July 13, 2025
I've been on a small poetry kick lately, and since I read Blake, I wanted to experience a different themed poet, and so Wordsworth became my next read.
This was quite a long book (my antique copy was about 900 ish pages, excluding the index and such), so it took me longer than usual to finish this book, and due to that my attention did waver. I did enjoy quite a few of Wordsworth's works, but equally I felt like a lot weren't near enough as good as the third or so of pure perfection.
I loved the themes of nature and the romanticism of almost everything, compared to Blake it's definitely lighter in terms of themes and imagery, however- and apologise for me mildly bothering Wordsworth's name with modern slang- I felt like a lot of it was waffle. Some poems were so, so long, yet they didn't really go anywhere or flow as well as the shorter ones. Now, it could be due to personal preference, and like I'll always say with poetry, I think each person will interpret and enjoy different works dependent on ones own feelings and needs.
Overall, I'm glad to have added another classic author to my 'read' list, and I will probably reread some of my favourite Wordsworth poems on occasion in the future, thankfully now tabbed and easy to access without having to skim through lengthy nonsense.
3/5 🌟
This was quite a long book (my antique copy was about 900 ish pages, excluding the index and such), so it took me longer than usual to finish this book, and due to that my attention did waver. I did enjoy quite a few of Wordsworth's works, but equally I felt like a lot weren't near enough as good as the third or so of pure perfection.
I loved the themes of nature and the romanticism of almost everything, compared to Blake it's definitely lighter in terms of themes and imagery, however- and apologise for me mildly bothering Wordsworth's name with modern slang- I felt like a lot of it was waffle. Some poems were so, so long, yet they didn't really go anywhere or flow as well as the shorter ones. Now, it could be due to personal preference, and like I'll always say with poetry, I think each person will interpret and enjoy different works dependent on ones own feelings and needs.
Overall, I'm glad to have added another classic author to my 'read' list, and I will probably reread some of my favourite Wordsworth poems on occasion in the future, thankfully now tabbed and easy to access without having to skim through lengthy nonsense.
3/5 🌟
September 4, 2020
Superlative, Outstanding, Exceptional, World-class piece of art Sir William!
January 8, 2025
For a guy named Wordsworth I don’t think most of his words were worth it
April 17, 2025
My copy of this book is part of the Macmillan Collectors Library, which I love.
It was a well chosen selection of Wordsworth work and a delight to own.
It was a well chosen selection of Wordsworth work and a delight to own.
August 15, 2022
Beautiful. I’ve discovered some of my favourite poems now and I’m so glad
April 26, 2017
BOOK SIXTH
THE CHURCHYARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
"It was the season of unfolding leaves,
Of days advancing toward their utmost length,
And small birds singing happily to mates
Happy as they. With spirit-saddening power
Winds pipe through fading woods; but those blithe notes
Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak 860
Of what I know, and what we feel within.
--Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt
Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig
A thrush resorts, and annually chants,
At morn and evening from that naked perch,
While all the undergrove is thick with leaves,
A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
Of his fond partner, silent in the nest.
--'Ah why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself,
'Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; 870
'And nature that is kind in woman's breast,
'And reason that in man is wise and good,
'And fear of him who is a righteous judge;
'Why do not these prevail for human life,
'To keep two hearts together, that began
'Their spring-time with one love, and that have need
'Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet
'To grant, or be received; while that poor bird--
'O come and hear him! Thou who hast to me
'Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly creature, 880
'One of God's simple children that yet know not
'The universal Parent, how he sings
'As if he wished the firmament of heaven
'Should listen, and give back to him the voice
'Of his triumphant constancy and love;
'The proclamation that he makes, how far
'His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!'"
THE CHURCHYARD AMONG THE MOUNTAINS
"It was the season of unfolding leaves,
Of days advancing toward their utmost length,
And small birds singing happily to mates
Happy as they. With spirit-saddening power
Winds pipe through fading woods; but those blithe notes
Strike the deserted to the heart; I speak 860
Of what I know, and what we feel within.
--Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt
Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig
A thrush resorts, and annually chants,
At morn and evening from that naked perch,
While all the undergrove is thick with leaves,
A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
Of his fond partner, silent in the nest.
--'Ah why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself,
'Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; 870
'And nature that is kind in woman's breast,
'And reason that in man is wise and good,
'And fear of him who is a righteous judge;
'Why do not these prevail for human life,
'To keep two hearts together, that began
'Their spring-time with one love, and that have need
'Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet
'To grant, or be received; while that poor bird--
'O come and hear him! Thou who hast to me
'Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly creature, 880
'One of God's simple children that yet know not
'The universal Parent, how he sings
'As if he wished the firmament of heaven
'Should listen, and give back to him the voice
'Of his triumphant constancy and love;
'The proclamation that he makes, how far
'His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!'"
March 12, 2019
I am still trying to learn to appreciate poetry more and most recently decided to go through the complete works of Wordsworth. Having begun this complete collection in January and now having just finished it, I will say that I'm very glad that I spaced this out over so much time. The writing is beautiful but at times, but at many points becomes needlessly verbose and bizarrely extraneous.
Frequently when reading the complete novels of great fiction writers, you can read several in a row and really get into their style and under their skin in a most productive way. I discovered, at least for me, if I read too much of a single poet's work in one sitting that I become somewhat numb to their intended effect. This is certainly dangerous with this collection which is over 1000 pages!
The plain-language Romanticism of Wordsworth can be intoxicating at first though after a time has an inuring quality. As such, I decided to read this collection out of order, jumping from one period of his life to the next, and only a little at a time. While there is a great deal of otherwise negligible material here, there are certainly some standouts.
Even though it feels long-winded at times, The Prelude is probably his finest achievement. Some of the finer shorter works at least for me would be:
To a Butterfly (the version from April 1802)
My Heart Leaps Up
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
Tintern Abbey
To a Child
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (commonly identified as "Daffodils")
This is fine poetry (though inconsistent) and an author with whom you should be familiar. The bargain of having the complete works in this very affordable paperback is wonderful, but give Wordsworth a fair shake and don't read this too quickly or too much in one sitting.
Frequently when reading the complete novels of great fiction writers, you can read several in a row and really get into their style and under their skin in a most productive way. I discovered, at least for me, if I read too much of a single poet's work in one sitting that I become somewhat numb to their intended effect. This is certainly dangerous with this collection which is over 1000 pages!
The plain-language Romanticism of Wordsworth can be intoxicating at first though after a time has an inuring quality. As such, I decided to read this collection out of order, jumping from one period of his life to the next, and only a little at a time. While there is a great deal of otherwise negligible material here, there are certainly some standouts.
Even though it feels long-winded at times, The Prelude is probably his finest achievement. Some of the finer shorter works at least for me would be:
To a Butterfly (the version from April 1802)
My Heart Leaps Up
Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
Tintern Abbey
To a Child
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud (commonly identified as "Daffodils")
This is fine poetry (though inconsistent) and an author with whom you should be familiar. The bargain of having the complete works in this very affordable paperback is wonderful, but give Wordsworth a fair shake and don't read this too quickly or too much in one sitting.
January 29, 2009
In the front of my book (it isn't this one, the one I had dates from 1970, but it was a 'works') I've put 'This horrible book belongs to Alan Beard', so I obviously didn't like it at the time (read for 'O' level). However I've changed my mind since...
Read
May 5, 2016Wordsworth was a master. I don't really have much to add to that.
July 15, 2018
The more I read about Wordsworth's life, the more I find him very odd. wouldn't be surprised if his sister wrote half of his stuff.
February 14, 2021
The simplicity Wordsworth emplores in his work makes all of his poetry seem sincere. He wrote about pastoral folk and understood that emphatic language could be conveyed in a clear way without loft or eloquence. Naturalism is what he discusses in his poems and I like that it made me want to read outside more.
June 28, 2017
Reading poetry always makes me happy and when it's a Wordsworth then I don't need any word to describe it.
October 10, 2017
That is Amazing book! The works by Wordsworth are nothing lesser than epitomes of poetry!
December 1, 2017
Wow, I just really like poetry and this reinforced that notion by a hundred times, I swear. Great read--full of classics.
February 12, 2019
The child is the father of a man. who can forget these lines? His poems are full of wisdom and higher intellectual values. He is often regarded as the best poet after Shakespear.
July 6, 2019
William Wordsworth is one of the greatest poets of all time. His poems are romantic in nature and full of wit.
September 3, 2019
In my opinion, he is the greatest poet of all time. His poems inspire me a lot.
September 20, 2019
One of the best poet of all time. His works are full of emotions and knowledge. The collection inclued all his works in a systematic way.
August 20, 2020
A wonderful collection. Wordsworth is a classic poet who had lead the romantic age single Handley.
November 11, 2020
Poems by Wordsworth are wonderful... However, this collection makes it painful with double column printing.
June 25, 2021
not really a big fan of .... poetry but again it quite romantic if you are into that sort of thang!
Yes I said THANG.... lol
Yes I said THANG.... lol
Read
September 8, 2021Good one
Read
January 19, 2022most brilliant revolutionary, making poetry a common subject for everyone..
Displaying 1 - 30 of 56 reviews