Lines Written in Early Spring
William Wordsworth * Track #11 On Lyrical Ballads
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Album Lyrical Ballads
- #1The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- #2
The Foster-mother’s TaleSamuel Taylor Coleridge
- #3“Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree which stands near the Lake of Esthwaite”
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- #4The Nightingale, a conversational poem.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- #5The Female Vagrant
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- #6Goody Blake and Harry Gill
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- #7“Lines written at a small distance from my House , and sent by my little Boy to the Person to whom they are addressed”
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- #8Simon Lee: The Old Hunstman
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- #9Anecdote for Fathers
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- #10We Are Seven
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- #11Lines Written in Early Spring
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- #12The Thorn
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- #13The Last of the Flock
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- #14The Dungeon
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- #15The Mad Mother
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- #16The Idiot Boy
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- #17“Lines written near Richmond, upon the Thames, at Evening”
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- #18Expostulation and Reply
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- #19The Tables Turned: An Evening Scene on the Same Subject
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- #20Old Man travelling
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- #21The Complaint of a forsaken Indian Woman
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- #22The Convict
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- #23Lines Written a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey
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Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth
Performed by
William WordsworthAbout
Wordsworth was one of the ‘big six’ Romantic Poets (Shelley, Keats, Coleridge and Byron. A tenet of Romantic poetry is its focus on nature and man’s insignificance in comparison to the natural world. This was a subject of particular interest to Wordsworth.
It should be noted that life in the late...
Lines Written in Early Spring Annotated
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?