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

 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?