February 24, 2009

Written in Early Spring

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--Description: Wordsworth W., 19th C, Humanity, Nature, Seasons


I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove I sat 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 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?


William Wordsworth


--Did You Know:  Wordsworth's widow Mary (one of his four wives) published his lengthy autobiographical "poem to Coleridge" as The Prelude several months after his death..  It has since come to be recognized as his masterpiece.

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