Julie Rosenfield

My journal


Born in Cockermouth, in 1770,

William Wordsworth wrote rhymes a plenty.

The second of five, with his sister dear,

He did love Dorothy, some thought it queer.

* * *

Now our young Wordsworth was surely no fool,

At 13, he went to Hawkshead School.

Classics, Maths and English Lit

But Wordsworth hardly cared a bit.

* * *

The great outdoors were calling him forth,

The lovely lakelands of the north.

Then on to Cambridge, he did go,

But idled his time, silly so-and-so.

* * *

After his degree, he went to France

And – ooh la la – he had a romance!

He loved the French, revolution was great,

And he met Annette, a charming mate.

* * *

But he went and left her up the spout

And, for eight long years, his daughter heard nowt.

Back in England, he was stony broke,

Wrote serious poems, hardly a joke.

* * *

But things improved, thanks to TB

An old friend left him a legacy.

He moved to Bristol with Dorothy

And once he met Coleridge, two became three.

* * *

A marvellous year was had by those three,

Lyrical Ballads, wild poesy,

Poems of flowers and Nature’s Grand Plan,

He truly was a remarkable man.

* * *

He planned a grand poem, The Recluse was its name,

But he never finished it, seems such a shame.

And another long poem called The Prelude

Took 40 years, he was never in the mood.

* * *

With Dorothy dear, and Coleridge too

In Germany, he wrote of Lucy and Matthew

More ballads followed, two volumes of rhymes,

It was a great decade, such wonderful times.

* * *

In 1802, he returned to France,

Met his daughter by his dalliance.

Came back to England, married his Mary,

Dorothy took to her bed – all rather scary.

* * *

He carried on writing, he must have been great,

In 1843, he was Poet Laureate.

In 1850, he died of his ills.

But we’ll never forget his golden Daffodils.


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