William Wordsworth

Poet laureate in 1883, Wordsworth published a book of poems, with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, called "Lyrical Ballads", in 1798. That book was one of the major things that helped establish romanticism in England. This is a link to "The Prelude":http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww286.html, which is basically an autobiographical work written in, count 'em, fourteen books. It was partially dedicated to Coleridge, a great romantic poet himself, and good friends with Wordsworth. The books of the pome are bluntly titled with lines like: "Introduction- Childhood and Schooltime", "Summer Vacation", "Camebridge and the Alps", "Residence in London", "Residence in France". It basically chronicles his development through the years, mental more than anything. The last few books have the word imagination in the title.

A bit about him: he graduated Camebridge, which is kind of funky since Shelley got kicked out of Camebridge, and stay in France he came home greatly influenced the the French Revolution. He took a lot of inspiration from Rousseau's writings, as well as other philosophy floating around at the time. Anyone remember Socials 9? Voltaire was floating around there too with his radical thoughts, "I don't agree with a word you say but I will fight to the death for your right to say it".

Wordsworth was a lover of nature and it influenced much of his work as well. THe political, radical side fo things cooled off eventually and he became closer to the sensibilities of society as he grew older, hence being named poet laureate. I suppose of greatest mention is his friendship to Coleridge, which was to the poin that they were inseperable, like Asterix and Obelix, just not as violent, and during the span of which he produced his finest works.

A couple of Wordsworth quotes (I love the dreamer one):

"I was the Dreamer, they the Dream...."
"To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."

I love this, it's the opening verse to a poem called "Written in Germany, On One of the Coldest Days if the Century", you can see exactly how cold he is in it:

A PLAGUE on your languages, German and Norse!

Let me have the song of the kettle;

And the tongs and the poker, instead of that horse

That gallops away with such fury and force

On this dreary dull plate of black metal.

(Link to the full poem:http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww160.html)