“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?

Marked red with many an eager kiss

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ANTONY: I thought how those white arms would fold me in, 

And strain me close, and melt me into love; 

So pleased with that sweet image, I sprung forwards, 

And added all my strength to every blow. 


CLEOPATRA: Come to me, come, my soldier, to my arms! 

You’ve been too long away from my embraces; 

But, when I have you fast, and all my own,

With broken murmurs, and with amorous sighs, 

I’ll say, you were unkind, and punish you, 

And mark you red with many an eager kiss.


John Dryden (1631–1700).  “All for Love.” Act 3

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