Journals of Dorothy Wordsworth, Vol. 1 (of 2)

And everlasting longings for the lost. ... William is now sleeping with the window open, lying on the window seat. The thrush is singing. There are, I do believe, a thousand buds on the honeysuckle tree, all small and far from blowing, save one that is retired behind the twigs close to the wall, and as snug as a bird nest. John's rose tree is very beautiful, blended with the honeysuckle. Yesterday morning William walked as far as the Swan with Aggy Fisher, who was going to attend upon Goan's dying infant. She said, "There are many heavier crosses than the death of an infant;" and went on, "There was a woman in this vale who buried four grown-up children in one year, and I have heard her say, when many years were gone by, that she had more pleasure in thinking of those four than of her living children, for as children get up and have families of their own, their duty to their parents wears out and weakens. She could trip lightly by the graves of those who died when they were young ... as she went to church on a Sunday." ... A very affecting letter came from M. H., while I was sitting in the window reading Milton's Penseroso to William. I answered this letter before I went to bed. Saturday, 5th.--A fine showery morning. I made both pies and bread; but we first walked into Easedale, and sate under the oak trees, upon the mossy stones. There were one or two slight showers. The gowans were flourishing along the banks of the stream. The strawberry flower hanging over the brook; all things soft and green. In the afternoon William sate in the orchard. I went there; was tired, and fell asleep. William began a letter to John Wilson.