Two Wordsworth Songs

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 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 love 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.

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 sweet bower,
  The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths; 
And 'tis my faith that every flower
  Enjoys the air it breathes.
  
The birds around me hopp'd and play'd,
  Their thoughts I cannot measure,
But the least motion which they made 
  It seem'd 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?