The Tables Turned / William Wordsworth

An Evening Scene, on the same Subject

  Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,

  Why all this toil and trouble?

  Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,

  Or surely you'll grow double.

  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 dull and endless strife,

  Come, here the woodland linnet,

  How sweet his music; on my life

  There's more of wisdom in it.

  And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

  And he 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 chearfulness.

  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

  Mishapes the beauteous forms of things;

  --We murder to dissect.

  Enough of science and of art;

  Close up these barren leaves;

  Come forth, and bring with you a heart

  That watches and receives.