Lyrical Ballads, with Other Poems, 1800, Volume 1. William Wordsworth

        "Why, William, on that old grey stone,

        Thus for the length of half a day,

        Why, William, sit you thus alone,

        And dream your time away?"

        "Where are your books? that light bequeath'd

        To beings else forlorn and blind!

        Up! Up! and drink the spirit breath'd

        From dead men to their kind."

        "You look round on your mother earth,

        As if she for no purpose bore you;

        As if you were her first-born birth,

        And none had lived before you!"

        One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,

        When life was sweet, I knew not why,

        To me my good friend Matthew spake,

        And thus I made reply.

        "The eye it cannot chuse but see,

        We cannot bid the ear be still;

        Our bodies feel, where'er they be,

        Against, or with our will."

        "Nor less I deem that there are powers

        Which of themselves our minds impress,

        That we can feed this mind of ours

        In a wise passiveness."

        "Think you, mid all this mighty sum

        Of things for ever speaking,

        That nothing of itself will come,

        But we must still be seeking?"

        " – Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,

        Conversing as I may,

        I sit upon this old grey stone,

        And dream my time away."

        Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks,

        Why all this toil and trouble?

        Up! up! my friend, and quit your books,

        Or surely you'll grow double.

        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 dull and endless strife,

        Come, here the woodland linnet,

        How sweet his music; on my life

        There's more of wisdom in it.

        And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!

        And he 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 chearfulness.

        One impulse from a vernal wood