Up! Up! my friend, and quit your books;
or surely you'll grow double:
Up! Up! my friend, and clear your looks;
why all this toil and trouble?
The Sun above the mountain's head,
a freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
his first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
there's more of wisdom in it.
And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
he, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
let nature be your teacher.
She has a world of ready wealth,
our minds and hearts to bless
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
truth breathed by cheerfulness.
One impulse from a vernal wood
may tech you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beateous forms of things:
we murder to dissect
Enough of Science and of Art;
close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
that watches and receives.
--William Wordsworth
(thanks to my wonderful roommate and friend, Victoria, who shared this poem with me.)
No comments:
Post a Comment