THE TABLES TURNED
     - 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, 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 hearts and minds 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 lore 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.