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 budding twigs spread out their fan,

To catch the breezy air;

And I mush think, do all I can,

That there was pleasure there.


If this belief from heaven be send,

If such be Nature’s holy plan,

Have I not reason to lament

What mas has made of man?


——William Wordsworth

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