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Up! up! my friend, and quit your books Or surely you'll grow double; Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks; Why all this toil and trouble? The sun, above the mountain's head, A freshening luster 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, Or moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can. Sweet is the lore which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes 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. |
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Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower-but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. |