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?
Primroses and Bird’s Nest William Henry Hunt (1790-1864) 1840’s
Langdale Pikes from Low Wood, Windermere
James Francis Williams (1785–1846)
Christiana Jane Herringham; Pink Aquilegia, Yellow Foxgloves, Cow Parsley
A road through a forest, 1903
Potter, Beatrix (1866 – 1943)
Gustave Doré (1832–1883)
Featured image is from: View across Esthwaite Water by Beatrix Potter 1909