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The poetical works of William Wordsworth

... In six volumes ... A new edition
Wordsworth, William (1770-1850)

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VOL. I.
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VOL. II.
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VOL. III.
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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND. 1803.
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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND. 1814.
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POEMS DEDICATED TO NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE AND LIBERTY.
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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. 1820.
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MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN ITALY. 1837.
  
TO HENRY CRABB ROBINSON.
 I. 
I. MUSINGS NEAR AQUAPENDENTE.
 II. 
II. THE PINE OF MONTE MARIO AT ROME.
 III. 
III. AT ROME.
 IV. 
IV. AT ROME.—REGRETS.—IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER MODERN HISTORIANS.
 V. 
V. AT ROME.—REGRETS.—IN ALLUSION TO NIEBUHR AND OTHER MODERN HISTORIANS: CONTINUED.
 VI. 
VI. PLEA FOR THE HISTORIAN.
 VII. 
VII. AT ROME.
 VIII. 
VIII. NEAR ROME, IN SIGHT OF ST. PETER'S.
 IX. 
IX. AT ALBANO.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI. FROM THE ALBAN HILLS, LOOKING TOWARDS ROME.
 XII. 
XII. NEAR THE LAKE OF THRASYMENE.
 XIII. 
XIII. NEAR THE SAME LAKE.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE CUCKOO AT LAVERNA.
 XV. 
XV. AT THE CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI.
 XVI. 
XVI. AT THE CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI: CONTINUED.
 XVII. 
XVII. AT THE EREMITE OR UPPER CONVENT OF CAMALDOLI.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. AT VALLOMBROSA.
 XIX. 
XIX. AT FLORENCE.
 XX. 
XX. BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL, IN THE GALLERY AT FLORENCE.
 XXI. 
XXI. AT FLORENCE.
 XXII. 
XXII. AT FLORENCE.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. AMONG THE RUINS OF A CONVENT IN THE APENNINES.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. IN LOMBARDY.
 XXV. 
XXV. AFTER LEAVING ITALY.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. AFTER LEAVING ITALY: CONTINUED.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. COMPOSED AT RYDAL ON MAY MORNING, 1838.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. THE PILLAR OF TRAJAN.
  
THE EGYPTIAN MAID;
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THE RIVER DUDDON.
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YARROW REVISITED, AND OTHER POEMS,
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VOL. IV.
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VOL. V.
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“These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise,
Perched on the forehead of a jutting crag,
Pencil in hand and book upon the knee,
Will look and scribble, scribble on and look,
Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,
Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.
But, for that moping Son of Idleness,
Why can he tarry yonder?—In our church-yard
Is neither epitaph nor monument,
Tombstone nor name—only the turf we tread
And a few natural graves.”
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