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 ’t is 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?