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?





