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,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
Sweet is the love which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes 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.
W. Wordsworth.
LEARNING
Take me to some still abode,
Underneath some woody hill;
By some timber-skirted road,
By some willow-shaded rill;
Where along the rocky brook
Flying echoes sweetly sound,
And the hoarsely-croaking rook
Builds upon the trees around.
Take me to some lofty room
Lighted from the western sky,
Where no glare dispels the gloom
Till the golden eve is nigh,
Where the works of searching thought,
Chosen books, may still impart
What the wise of old have taught,
What has tried the meek of heart.