Skip to main content

Poetry Sunday: Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth

When you think of spring, does any particular poet come to mind?

For me, that would be William Wordsworth. So many of his poems with which I am familiar seem set in spring. One suspects that perhaps he had a special affection for the season.

Here is one of those "spring" poems. It is, in some ways, a bittersweet look at the season. While the poet reflects on the happy thoughts brought by spring, as expressed in birdsong and in the beauty of spring flowers, this also brings to mind thoughts of how man has squandered that beauty. Mankind, he seems to say, has not lived up to the example of beauty and purity offered by Nature.

The poem was written in April 1798; the character of humankind has scarcely improved in the 220 years since.


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?

Labels:

Comments

  1. Judy KruegerMarch 25, 2018 at 10:44 AM

    Now that the rain is over I can go recline in a grove and see where my thoughts go.

    ReplyDelete
  2. AlanaMarch 25, 2018 at 10:44 AM

    The more we change, the more we remain the same. At our heart, we are today what we were 220 years ago. I can put myself right in his shoes, and also be chilled knowing madmen could end our world with a single push of a button.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Dorothy BordersMarch 25, 2018 at 10:59 AM

      Human nature has not improved in the interim, but our weapons have become more deadly.

      Delete
  3. CarmenMarch 25, 2018 at 1:34 PM

    What a lovely poem! I doubt he had much to lament about "what man had made of man" back then. Apparently mankind has been lamenting that fact throughout its entire history. At least it was so lamented by Roman philosophers and thinkers, and a lot more has happened since then.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...
19 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters!  Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...
6 comments
Read more

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...
24 comments
Read more