UP! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely youíll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?
The sun, above the mountainís head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! ítis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
Thereís 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.
From the 1798 edition of the Lyrical
Ballads by William Wordsworth