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;
And now I’ve got myself the Blues.

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. Yeh!

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.
I got the same feeling on Westminster Bridge.

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?

William Wordsworth, Lines Written in Early Spring, April 1798
N.B. William Wordsworth did not write the words in italics!