Dorothy, who was born on December 25, 1771, was the only sister of William Wordsworth. As orphans, they spent many of their childhood years apart from each other. Dorothy and William's re-connection in 1798 would prove to be a lifetime connection. They settled at Dove Cottage in Grasmere during the winter of 1799 and lived there until 1808. During the siblings time at Dove Cottage, William married Mary Hutchinson and produced 5 children (2 died in early childhood). Even though William married Mary and had 5 children, Dorothy remained a constant in the Wordsworth home. The family eventually moved to Allen Bank, which was a much larger home than Dove Cottage. A few years later the family would move into a rectory before moving to their final home at Rydal Mount. At this home, Dorothy was able to live out the rest of her life with her family. Just as William and Mary's headstone are bare, Dorothy's headstone only has her name and date of death. Even in death, William and Dorothy still abide by a minimalist approach. The two headstones that are more intricately inscribed than all the others in the Wordsworth section of the cemetery are John and Dora's, which, as previously stated, could attest to the immense love and respect that William and Mary held for them.
Dorothy as a writer...
Dorothy had no ambition to become a writer or poet, but she did enjoy writing in her journal, writing letters to friends and family, and accompanying William on his walks. Many of Dorthy's journal entries provided immense inspiration to William, and research proves that some of Dorothy's journal entries coincide with William Wordsworth's poems. An excerpt taken from her journal entry on April 15, 1802 talks about the landscape of daffodils that William wrote so eloquently about in his poem "I Wandered Lonely as a cloud (The Daffodil). Dorothy paints such a beautiful picture of the daffodil landscape, which allows William to move it a step further by adding touch of melody to it. Dorothy never published any of her material herself, but there have been many collections over the years published with her letters, journals, and other writings.
Dorothy as a writer...
Dorothy had no ambition to become a writer or poet, but she did enjoy writing in her journal, writing letters to friends and family, and accompanying William on his walks. Many of Dorthy's journal entries provided immense inspiration to William, and research proves that some of Dorothy's journal entries coincide with William Wordsworth's poems. An excerpt taken from her journal entry on April 15, 1802 talks about the landscape of daffodils that William wrote so eloquently about in his poem "I Wandered Lonely as a cloud (The Daffodil). Dorothy paints such a beautiful picture of the daffodil landscape, which allows William to move it a step further by adding touch of melody to it. Dorothy never published any of her material herself, but there have been many collections over the years published with her letters, journals, and other writings.
Dorothy Wordworth
April 15, 1802 "I never saw daffodils so beautiful they grew among the mossy stones about and about them, some rested their heads upon these stones as on a pillow for weariness and the rest tossed and reeled and danced and seemed as if they verily laughed with the wind that blew upon them over the lake, they looked so gay ever glancing ever changing. This wind blew directly over the lake to them. There was here and there a little knot and a few stragglers a few yards higher up but they were so few as not to disturb the simplicity and unity and life of that one busy highway." (Wordsworth 109-110) |
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. |