Lines Written in Early Spring
William Wordsworth (1798)
I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link the human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think what man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And ’tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure:--But the least motion which they made, it seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, to catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, that there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, if such be Nature’s holy plan, Have I not reason to lament what man has made of man?