Into the Woods - (William Trost Richards - 1860)

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

By  William Wordsworth

         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?