An Evening Scene, On the Same Subject

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 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!
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 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
Mishapes the beauteous forms of things:
--We murder to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up these barren leaves; 
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.