William Wordsworth
Lines Written in Early Spring (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?