Tag Archives: William Wordsworth

Minutiae

There are so many minutes in a day that it may not seem much to waste a few; yet these small fragments, worthless as they may seem, once they are exhausted, life is through. They pass without much notice, or … Continue reading

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

A Few Lines Composed Nowhere Near an Abbey

There is a Mary every few doors down the block; in a small creche under the trees or tight up against the house, overgrown with wire grass or chicory to her knees of cheap cast plaster, whiter than bleached bone. … Continue reading

Posted in Poems | Tagged , , | Leave a comment