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Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)
·
Dorothy Wordsworth
122
Thursday,
15th.--It
was
a
threatening,
misty
morning,
but
mild.
We
set
off
after
dinner
from
Eusemere.
Mrs.
Clarkson
went
a
short
way
with
us,
but
turned
back.
The
wind
was
furious,
and
we
thought
we
must
have
returned.
We
first
rested
in
the
large
boathouse,
then
under
a
furze
bush
opposite
Mr.
Clarkson's.
Saw
the
plough
going
in
the
field.
The
wind
seized
our
breath.
The
lake
was
rough.
There
was
a
boat
by
itself
floating
in
the
middle
of
the
bay
below
Water
Millock.
We
rested
again
in
the
Water
Millock
Lane.
The
hawthorns
are
black
and
green,
the
birches
here
and
there
greenish,
but
there
is
yet
more
of
purple
to
be
seen
on
the
twigs.
We
got
over
into
a
field
to
avoid
some
cows--people
working.
A
few
primroses
by
the
roadside--woodsorrel
flower,
the
anemone,
scentless
violets,
strawberries,
and
that
starry,
yellow
flower
which
Mrs.
C.
calls
pile
wort.
When
we
were
in
the
woods
beyond
Gowbarrow
Park
we
saw
a
few
daffodils
close
to
the
water-side.
We
fancied
that
the
sea
had
floated
the
seeds
ashore,
and
that
the
little
colony
had
so
sprung
up.
But
as
we
went
along
there
were
more
and
yet
more;
and
at
last,
under
the
boughs
of
the
trees,
we
saw
that
there
was
a
long
belt
of
them
along
the
shore,
about
the
breadth
of
a
country
turnpike
road.
I
never
saw
daffodils
so
beautiful.
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