Lines Written in Early Spring

By 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 sweet 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?

 

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