[Footnote A:  It should be explained that owing to the chronological plan adopted in this edition (see the preface to vol. i.), two of the poems which were placed by Wordsworth in his series of “Poems on the Naming of Places,” but which belong to later years, are printed in subsequent volumes.—­Ed.]

* * * * *

“IT WAS AN APRIL MORNING:  FRESH AND CLEAR”

Composed 1800.—­Published 1800

[Written at Grasmere.  This poem was suggested on the banks of the brook that runs through Easdale, which is, in some parts of its course, as wild and beautiful as brook can be.  I have composed thousands of verses by the side of it.—­I.  F.]

  It was an April morning:  fresh and clear
  The Rivulet, delighting in its strength,
  Ran with a young man’s speed; and yet the voice
  Of waters which the winter had supplied
  Was softened down into a vernal tone. 5
  The spirit of enjoyment and desire,
  And hopes and wishes, from all living things
  Went circling, like a multitude of sounds. 
  The budding groves seemed eager to urge on
  The steps of June; as if their various hues 10
  Were only hindrances that stood between
  Them and their object:  but, meanwhile, prevailed
  Such an entire contentment in the air [1]
  That every naked ash, and tardy tree
  Yet leafless, showed as if [2] the countenance 15
  With which it looked on this delightful day
  Were native to the summer.—­Up the brook
  I roamed in the confusion of my heart,
  Alive to all things and forgetting all. 
  At length I to a sudden turning came 20
  In this continuous glen, where down a rock
  The Stream, so ardent in its course before,
  Sent forth such sallies of glad sound, that all
  Which I till then had heard, appeared the voice
  Of common pleasure:  beast and bird, the lamb, 25
  The shepherd’s dog, the linnet and the thrush
  Vied with this waterfall, and made a song,
  Which, while I listened, seemed like the wild growth
  Or like some natural produce of the air,
  That could not cease to be.  Green leaves were here; 30
  But ’twas the foliage of the rocks—­the birch,
  The yew, the holly, and the bright green thorn,
  With hanging islands of resplendent furze: 
  And, on a summit, distant a short space,
  By any who should look beyond the dell, 35
  A single mountain-cottage might be seen. 
  I gazed and gazed, and to myself I said,
  “Our thoughts at least are ours; and this wild nook,
  My EMMA, I will dedicate to thee.” 
—­Soon did the spot become my other home, 40
  My dwelling, and my out-of-doors abode. 
  And, of the Shepherds who have seen me there,
  To whom I sometimes in our idle talk
  Have told this fancy, two or three, perhaps,
  Years after we are gone and in our graves, 45
  When they have cause to speak of this wild place,
  May call it by the name of EMMA’S DELL.