Spring fever and senioritis are nowhere to be seen, but the call of the mountain sounds and brambling outdoors never loses its charm. Even in the dead of winter, I want to wander across fields and forgotten woods.
But until the nasty winter winds die down, here's a poem by Wordsworth
to tide me over.
to tide me over.
The Tables Turned by William Wordsworth
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 lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.
Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, and 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 a man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:
We murder to dissect.
Enough of Science and Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
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