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 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
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.