Quick Share: William Wordsworth

Among the books in my current Read pile is a book of English literature. (Yes.  I have kept some of those behemoths, and yes, I mean to read them!)  I'm just now working my way through Wordsworth.  Last night, I came across this poem, and it sums up so well for me, not just what it means to be Pagan, but what it means to be a modern Pagan.

..."And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man..." This is what I feel every day, as I witness our disconnect from Nature and from one another.  Though Wordsworth was, in fact, not a Pagan, I feel this poem captures really well how some of us experience our distancing, as a species, from our Green Mother.

Lines Written in Early Spring*

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man? 

Blessed be.

*This poem is in the public domain.

Photo: "Small Worlds" (c) 2013  Jennifer L. Moore.  Do not duplicate.
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