By My Sister

Composed 1806.--Published 1815

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere.--I. F.]

One of the "Poems referring to the Period of Childhood."--ED.

What way does the Wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and, o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight; He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see; But how he will come, and whither he goes, There's never a scholar in England knows. He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook, And ring a sharp 'larum;--but, if you should look, There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, And softer than if it were covered with silk. Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock, Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock; --Yet seek him,--and what shall you find in the place? Nothing but silence and empty space; Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves! As soon as 'tis daylight to-morrow, with me You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see That he has been there, and made a great rout, And cracked the branches, and strewn them about; Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig That looked up at the sky so proud and big All last summer, as well you know, Studded with apples, a beautiful show! Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, And growls as if he would fix his claws Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle Drive them down, like men in a battle: --But let him range round; he does us no harm, We build up the fire, we're snug and warm; Untouched by his breath see the candle shines bright, And burns with a clear and steady light; Books have we to read,--but that half-stifled knell, Alas! tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. --Come now we'll to bed! and when we are there He may work his own will, and what shall we care? He may knock at the door,--we'll not let him in; May drive at the windows,--we'll laugh at his din; Let him seek his own home wherever it be; Here's a cozie warm house for Edward and me.

Wordsworth dated this poem 1806, and said to Miss Fenwick that it was written at Grasmere. If it was written "during a boisterous winter evening" in 1806, it could not have been written at Grasmere; because the Wordsworths spent most of that winter at Coleorton. I am inclined to believe that the date which the poet gave is wrong, and that the Address really belongs to the year 1805; but, as it is just possible that--although referring to winter--it may have been written at Town-end in the summer of 1806, it is placed among the poems belonging to the latter year.

This Address was translated into French by Mme. Amable Tastu, and published in a popular school-book series of extracts, but Wordsworth's name is not given along with the translation.

From 1815 to 1843 the authorship was veiled under the title, "by a female Friend of the Author." In 1845, it was disclosed, "by my Sister."

In 1815 Charles Lamb wrote to Wordsworth, "We were glad to see the poems 'by a female friend.' The one of the Wind is masterly, but not new to us. Being only three, perhaps you might have clapt a D. at the corner, and let it have past as a printer's mark to the uninitiated, as a delightful hint to the better instructed. As it is, expect a formal criticism on the poems of your female friend, and she must expect it." (The Letters of Charles Lamb, edited by Alfred Ainger, vol. i. p. 285.)--ED.

VARIANTS:

1845.

... rings ... 1815.

1827.

... for ... 1815.

1827.

... --hush! that half-stifled knell, Methinks 'tis the sound ... 1815.