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?