« 前へ次へ »
Animal Tranquillity, and Decay, a Sketch
near the Lake of Esthwaite
The Foster-mother's Tale
Goody Blake and Harry Gill
We are Seven
Anecdote for Fathers
Lines written at a small Distance from my House,
and sent by my little Boy to the Person to whom
they are addressed
The Female Vagrant
Simon Lee, the Old Huntsman
Lines written in early Spring.
The Nightingale, written in April 1798
Lines written near Richmond, upon the Thames
The Idiot Boy
The Mad Mother
The Ancient Mariner
On Revisiting the Wye
T the same time that the Editor begs leave to offer the
place in the Publication of these Poems, he begs also re-
So rapid appears to have been the sale of these Poems in
THE First Volume of these Poems has already been submitted to general perusal. It was published as an experiment which, I hoped, might be of some use to ascertain, how far, by fitting to Metrical arrangement a selection of the real language of men in a state of vivid sensation, that sort of pleasure and that quantity of pleasure may be imparted, which a Poet may rationally endeavour to impart.
I had formed no very inaccurate estimate of the probable effect of those Poems: I flattered myself, that they who should be pleased with them would read them with more than common pleasure; and on the other hand I was well aware, that by those who should dislike them they would be read with more than common dislike. The result has differed from my expectation in this only, that I have pleased a greater number than I ventured to hope I should please.
For the sake of variety, and from a consciousness of my own weakness, I was induced to request the assistance of a friend, who furnished me with the Poems of the ANCIENT MARINER, the Foster MOTHER'S TALE, the NIGHTINGALE, the DunGEON, and the Poem entitled Love. I should not however, have requested this assistance, had I not believed, that the Poems of my friend would, in a great measure, have the same tendency as my own, and that though there would be found a difference, there would be found no discordance in the colours of our style; as our opinions on the subject of Poetry do almost entirely coiecide.