| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| One impulse from a vernal wood | |
| May teach you more of man, | |
| Of moral evil and of good, | |
| Than all the sages can. | |
| |
| Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; | 25 |
| Our meddling intellect | |
| Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:— | |
| —We murder to dissect. | |
| |
| Enough of Science and of Art; | |
| Close up those barren leaves: | 30 |
| Come forth, and bring with you a heart | |
| That watches and receives. | |
| |
