My Favourite Poet

My favourite poet is William Wordsworth, a poet who discovered his calling  as a poet with a theme of a common man close to nature. The funny /intriguing part of this is that he dicovered his calling when he was returning to England as war broke out. It was reported that he had been taking a walking tour around France and Switzerland, and only when war broke out did he return to England. 

Thus we can see that he was more of a nature person, and he expressed his deep connection with nature through some of his poems, such as "Daffodils" or "I wandered lonely as a cloud" while he tended to describe his life as a very pleasant, peaceful life. In fact, he was born in a scenic part of a countryside in England and that may have led to his (should we call) obsession with the beauty of nature. 

It has been said that William Wordsworth was one of the first Romantic Poets, and together with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a close friend which hehelped to launch the Romantic Age in English literature with the 1798 joint publication Lyrical Ballads. Besides, the piece "lyrical ballads" had neither his name nor Samuel's name in it, showing how he was selfless in presenting his work without needing any recognition. This, in a way, is like nature--it gives without receiving, except perhaps sunlight and other things. Besides, think of how William Wordsworth pioneered this new age. It could have been influenced by the walking tours he took of France and Switzerland. He was also known to have toured the Alps, and i believe he may have gotten most of his inspiration fom there. 

William even fell into a depression for a period in his life, and at that time, he feltextreme loneliness and stress. This was because he, his sister and Coleridge traveled to Germany in the autumn of 1798, which somehow evoked a sense of loneliness. Despite this, he started on his magnum opus- an autobiographical poem of his life, and a work he is well known for. Though he died before it was published, his wife did it for him, fulfilling his wishes.

Here are three of his poems, one which is "I wandered lonely as a cloud".

I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud by William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

This gives an impression how nature mattered to him, and how he perceived thenm to be real and personified them to express his joy at the wealth that looking upon the daffodils brought to im which eased his loneliness.

Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Again, here is a poem which expresses his joy at nature but sadness at what has become of men.

Written In March by William Wordsworth
The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping—anon-anon:
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!

This ends my three poems, and it is clearly evident how this poems contain joy towards the natural environment, and how life pleases him. William wordsworth encompasses romanticism in nature, and as both can be found in nature easily.