|
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? |
