Lines Written in Early Spring
by William Wordsworth
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 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?
Ah! how long ago was this written? before 1850--since Wordsworth died then. And yet --his lament--"what man has made of man?" seems too much apropos today with the mess we have made of our Mother Earth, and how we are killing others in senseless wars. And now the Earth rumbles with Earthquakes, and still we fiddle and fumble; but spring brings new hope that those us us who care and are sane will prevail and justice and peace and love of our planet will win out.
April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH--please feel free to leave your favorite poem here in the comments....
Ah! how long ago was this written? before 1850--since Wordsworth died then. And yet --his lament--"what man has made of man?" seems too much apropos today with the mess we have made of our Mother Earth, and how we are killing others in senseless wars. And now the Earth rumbles with Earthquakes, and still we fiddle and fumble; but spring brings new hope that those us us who care and are sane will prevail and justice and peace and love of our planet will win out.
April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH--please feel free to leave your favorite poem here in the comments....
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1 comment:
Hello, What a beautiful tapestry you have to go with your poem.
I chose a Robert Frost poem to share.
Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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