I chose William Wordsworth as he, along with Samuel Taylor Coleridge, helped to launch the Romantic Age in English literature. He also intrigued me because of The Prelude, his semiautobiogaphical poem that was expanded to become 13 books long! wordsworth also beilieved that poetry should be written in the natural language of common speech rather than elaborate words that were considered "poetic".

William Wordsworth was born on 7 April 1770 in Cockermouth in Cumberland, which was part of the scenic Lake District in northwest England. He was the second of five children, and his father not only taught him poetry, he also allowed Wordsworth to rely on his library. Wordsworth visited France in 1791 and fell in love with a French woman, Annette Vallon. He had one child with her but due to a lack of money and Britain's tensions with France, he reutrned alone to england in 1792. In 1802, he was finally able to see Annette and his daughter again when he returned to France.

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 leaves in glee;

A poet could not be but 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.

Composed Upon Westminster Bridge by William Wordsworth

Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning; silent , bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky,

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

Never did the sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

Written In March by William Wordsworth

The cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter

The green field sleeps in the sun;

The oldest and youngest

Are at work with the strongest;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated

The snow hath retreated,

And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The plowboy is whooping—anon-anon:

There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;

Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing;

The rain is over and gone!

Resources:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth

http://www.geocities.com/infinitum_poetry/bioswilliamwordsworth.html

http://www.sparknotes.com/poetry/wordsworth/section7.rhtml