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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
107
[Footnote
52:
See
"Poetical
Works,"
vol.
ii.
p.
335.--ED.]
Tuesday,
23rd.--
...
When
we
came
out
of
our
own
doors,
that
dear
thrush
was
singing
upon
the
topmost
of
the
smooth
branches
of
the
ash
tree
at
the
top
of
the
orchard.
How
long
it
had
been
perched
on
that
same
tree
I
cannot
tell,
but
we
had
heard
its
dear
voice
in
the
orchard
the
day
through,
along
with
a
cheerful
undersong
made
by
our
winter
friends,
the
robins.
As
we
came
home,
I
picked
up
a
few
mosses
by
the
roadside,
which
I
left
at
home.
We
then
went
to
John's
Grove.
There
we
sate
a
little
while
looking
at
the
fading
landscape.
The
lake,
though
the
objects
on
the
shore
were
fading,
seemed
brighter
than
when
it
is
perfect
day,
and
the
island
pushed
itself
upwards,
distinct
and
large.
All
the
shores
marked.
There
was
a
sweet,
sea-like
sound
in
the
trees
above
our
heads.
We
walked
backwards
and
forwards
some
time
for
dear
John's
sake,
then
walked
to
look
at
Rydale.
Wm.
now
reading
in
Bishop
Hall,
I
going
to
read
German.
We
have
a
nice
singing
fire,
with
one
piece
of
wood....
Wednesday,
24th.--A
rainy
morning.
William
returned
from
Rydale
very
wet,
with
letters.
He
brought
a
short
one
from
C.,
a
very
long
one
from
Mary.
Wm.
wrote
to
Annette,
to
Coleridge....
I
wrote
a
little
bit
to
Coleridge.
We
sent
off
these
letters
by
Fletcher.
It
was
a
tremendous
night
of
wind
and
rain.
Poor
Coleridge!
a
sad
night
for
a
traveller
such
as
he.
God
be
praised
he
was
in
safe
quarters.
Wm.
went
out.
He
never
felt
a
colder
night.
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