written in early Spring
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in the grove I sat reclin'd
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
Enjoyes the air it breathes
The birds around me hopped and play'd
Their thoughts I cannot measure: -
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding tiwgs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If I these thoughts may not prevent,
If such be of my creed the plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
The Lines are by William Wordsworth and the images are photographs by me, taken today.