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 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.









