The Tables Turned BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books; Or surely youll grow double: Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble? The sun above the mountains 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, Theres 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 teach 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 beauteous 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.
Posted on: Mon, 07 Jul 2014 13:54:30 +0000
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