“Written in Early Spring” by William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

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  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 trail’d its wreaths;  And ’tis my faith that every flower  Enjoys the air it breathes.  The birds around me hopp’d and play’d,  Their thoughts I cannot measure,—  But the least motion which they made  It seem’d 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?

a muse

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O Scholarly Pen!
(Where to begin?)
Touching your lips to the dry desert page,
Caressing that plane,
A dance not in vain,
Swirling true art from the mind.

O Unlearned Keys!
(who credits these?)
Standing in rows on old bleachers like troops.
A-fiction romance
and diction, no dance,
Stamping the mark from the hand.

O Sapient tyro*!
(how will you go?)
Seeking to eat from the table of lore.
A home-sculptured meal,
Or “a fast-food deal”?
Glean from the ones who take time!

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"[T]hat's what learning has come to nowadays. The Latin language is hardly understood, Hebrew is unknown and Greek is so little esteemed that it is not considered ignorant for even the most learned men to pass over a Greek word without reading it." -- Victor Hugo
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* an interesting word referring to a student in general, implying the kind of student he is: ignorant or learned. That he is "sapient" suggests he is "learned."

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