Maybe its the grey skies of the winter or just the cold, but I found my mind drifting off and settling on a poem I had read years ago by William Wordsworth. It's more of a lament than a cheery poem, but even though it was written in 1798, it could not have more truth and meaning to it than today. Enjoy!


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?

Lines Written In Early Spring
By William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850)