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It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"... - Hallo friend WELCOME TO AMERICA, In the article you read this time with the title It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"..., we have prepared well for this article you read and download the information therein. hopefully fill posts Article AMERICA, Article CULTURAL, Article ECONOMIC, Article POLITICAL, Article SECURITY, Article SOCCER, Article SOCIAL, we write this you can understand. Well, happy reading.

Title : It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"...
link : It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"...

It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"...

I'd just finished listening to my old favorite radio show, Jean Shepherd — a great episode, "Prison Life" — and I was out running in the woods at sunrise and had not even touched my iPhone, when I heard a sonorous voice launch into what I now know is Wordsworth:

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?

I'd just finished listening to my old favorite radio show, Jean Shepherd — a great episode, "Prison Life" — and I was out running in the woods at sunrise and had not even touched my iPhone, when I heard a sonorous voice launch into what I now know is Wordsworth:

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.

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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?

Thus articles It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"...

that is all articles It's not early spring but mid-fall, and I have no idea why Spotify decided I ought to listen to a reading of "Lines Written in Early Spring"... This time, hopefully can provide benefits to all of you. Okay, see you in another article posting.

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