Book Review, Poems in Two Volumes, Volume One by William Wordsworth
Flowers are dressed in language for meaningful lust over their petals, stems, and overall growth. Playfulness can lead to huntsmanship. A community may bring up sounds while forming each note into a piece towards a vague monument in motion of expression geared for spooks and beauties. The future of liberties can head for a primary romance- that is, when an upcoming event reminds Wordsworth of past, present, and future in one’s soul, like a trinity over some member for the reaching heavens of light.
Fishes and birds become similar metaphors; in fact, “The Sailor’s Mother” gives a story about a poor lady who kept her son’s bird after he left it behind near the ocean. You’ll find astronomy on flowers in this beautiful work: feelings, positions, and aspects given to psychological effects in less-than-exact coordinations to space and time. A pyramid’s weight relates to most people on Earth- actually, there’s a variety of pyramids, flowers, times, circumstances, and approaching lavenders.
Bias in art has the great deal of pleasure within means of mental support when approached on for response made hand-to-hand for ultimate goals of conflict. Warriors don’t always get happy. Fighting men bear arms with their arms as parts go to parts- like homes for homes, like spirits for spirits. Questions come into play concerning the name to be given moments on end where vital thoughts reopen the past by imagery for the roughened faculties. Memories, as ghostly as they are, behave like dreams that don’t always enter one’s sleep for internal communications. Layers upon layers of thought may exaggerate the memory into a wonderful pleasing gist.
Our sky and its clouds get horizons over their mystery upon us for a dreamlike, heavenly, geographical location reveling on islands deep into the mists of time and unforeseen change. Wilderness between Earth and the heavens can be a named jewel for virtue and vice. Glowing worms catch the moments during visits taken on a ride into the lengthening road of conduct: colors, shades, dreams, and sights. Does the first field reach his globe before the last straw where beauty is permitted on less effort? Keep in mind that this is Christian poetry; however, the ancient wisdom provided for by rhyme and reason can be universally acknowledged because religion has been largely an earthly concept. Do Martians or aliens have their religion(s)? Probably.
A beggar can be like a queen- from birth to living and living to death, the bondage of wealth must tag along for the show of conduct in streets of grey and concentric hotspots within a visionary note for rights, as a begging lady or a begging man leaves traces of mortality behind in private forms of showmanship where the public may excuse the matter out of trade or privilege. “Heaven” is often used as a metaphor to describe volume and sound even if chaos and violence on Earth bring us to awareness for those true colors in duty and honor. Majesty and royalty for a traditional king or queen would’ve been required for an old kingdom to follow suit into battle and protection when attacking the vulgar breath of humanity at its defenses.
Business relates to poverty in such wilderness. An employment of mirth rests in the floods over us in such gathering mists of light, as a blend of sunshine and night ought to confuse our names spread near the working globes of land and heat, margins labeling wealth during storms that burn in agony under warring trends. Pilgrims have body language- it’s in their age, quality, and journeying foot of life across the bends. Age shows wrinkles that reveal opening cuts made on progress in great dimensions of space and time that our bodies feel in stretching, extending, imaginary forms under the quiet minds. Liberty is like a prison to Wordsworth. Taste and reason can be made for one’s stream of freedoms into student matters as education and knowledge combine along a sensible person’s lines.
A ship barks, a wave pulls, as destiny is further realized at the source for dissemination of greatness in light of day or dark of night. Batteries are mortal substances in sheer contrast to decreasing and increasing food for thought. Fellowship gets tagged by weather reports as the mind soars into a void demised of vision and prosperity in gear for dreaming, fantasy, and earthly turmoil. Waking and sleeping states are creatures of the night which seal the picture for stillness. Rest transitions under sleep done before the momentary blink of oblivion against time and space where restlessness invites more waking to be excused.
Death is a “breeze from heaven”. Stars almost seem to follow us in our journeys- the constellations of wave and tide pull us in for a terrible surprise across matchless movements traveled of leisure. Someone’s voice can haunt its owner when sunshine and moonlight come in parts for Earth’s rotations of mystery and person-to-person influences. Flowers are compared to spiritual matters in art and literature; in fact, a sacrifice made in work or hobbies leaves us with the fortunes to deny our unearned wages for life in general. Common sense isn’t exactly love to Wordsworth- people will not devote themselves to such an emotional position when there’s no sense of higher orders of nature like Earth or the cosmos. Weakness can be overcome by a song beyond mortal strands although, to put it clearly, the vision must reference natural effects under cloud and sky, too.
A sense is only welcomed to this poet out of mental cancellation. People can question his will by looking at the sweetness inscribed between the lines over dramatic, visual styles of expression. Little symbols act like dwarves even with concentration made on landscape growth, maintenance, and care in long waves of breeze- ghosts hang in the air, clouds flood down towards reflecting pressure from skyward bounds, and, the coast may or may not be clear. Mist and vapor become psychological light- the dragon may wait in his grave as shadows fall over prints into angles and shots of pleasing illusions.
Murmurs awaken sadness until the pining nature leaks of bloom: distress, anxiety, and fancy. A sound gets decorative within imaginary discourse across the pages connecting depth with pressure and stillness of pending fortune. Waking and sleeping states have inner and outer forces of confluence in divisional lines for reaction, like candy to sweethearts, or petals to roses. Praise involves forgotten traces approaching volume for reactive sport; marks are scratched, the light appears to Wordsworth on coordinations to the ancient wisdom of 1800’s fashion in English literature. Beauty can have an expiration date since generations of life prove or disprove the notions of happiness.
Feeble minds aren’t the best source of chance in relation to open borders, particular as knots end with visionary ideals during conflict. Troubles begin in fairness on dispute- the prey vanishes and more subsistence is required over glory. Women still lean on people; in fact, they get nervous as its cultural half. Power grows from the roots up. More events occur on Earth than we have words for by the ongoing notions of time and man-made inventions, or, if not just man, the continuous flow of nature on our side or beyond reach. Colors come and go. If you remember the word “fortuitous” from Winnie the Pooh’s friend Owl there shouldn’t be too much of a problem reading this poetry collection unless elementary factors are ignored or gross by expression and receipt.
God’s powers, from what I understand in reading Christian mythology, should be common in the nature we’ve known from influence and gesture. The concept of God means something like, “I am who I am”, and humanity has drawn influence from the higher elevations of personality over the centuries. Racism gets apparent when natives distinguish each other by means of habitation, charm, and wit. England is loved for the horizons and depth which must combine into a viewpoint for question along the side of lower or higher humor. Borders should be understood from lingering connections.
Symbols get mixed up- quality is proof where the length is divided by points of contrast towards greatness in sense, as from no darkness to deny the sense of light. Laws aren’t just made for the outdoors; in fact, they’re also made for indoors, as land includes everything from ground to sky. Have you ever seen a naked angel? It’s possible to see one according to wisdom and virtue geared for the heavenly bounds of fancy. There shouldn’t exactly be equal favor of literature and humanity- humans are the makers, but books, without the makers, aren’t useful for cultural identification. You can go into a bookstore right now and see empty journals for sale: unwritten, unloved, and wrapped in gloss for the beautifully private individual.
Supposedly Shakespeare’s language or dialectic logic remained to be heard and used in verbal expressions during Wordsworth’s time and the notorious, rhyming genius would’ve not deceived us on his education. We can observe the current status of ancient wisdom by looking over children, or, with some misfortune, the foul play of grownups in conflict although I’m sure we’re not using as harsh of words like those from the past leaders and vagabonds. Laughter, or irrational noise of fits, can’t be automatic guarantee of innocence when matters put belief and nature in question towards sensible means of peace and harmony. Old years bring on the sense of humanity in decline for surging cries within estimation, as death reminds us of leaning by fate. Money spells trouble during its absence- the metals must be cleared in legal fare according to purchases with lingering stock as fit proves source only by verification.
Global affairs add weight in politics. Emotions get measured as instruments of logic in Wordsworth’s reasoning of dispute for charm and grace. Guests die in war even as opportunities are put into question for resurgence, particularly to violent citizens and wandering foreigners. Nations are thundering down flame’s desire: past, present, and future. People are so often bookish about graves- there’s something where roses bloom that make children look for old relatives in a visual undertaking of hope, near a coast or far from the world of light. A heart goes deep where it is cut.
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