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?