God’s Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.


And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs –

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

A light exists in spring

A light exists in spring

Not present on the year

At any other period –

When march is scarcely here


GardenLeafHeartFlowerA color stands abroad

On solitary fields

That science cannot overtake

But human nature feels.


It waits upon the lawn,

It shows the furthest tree

Upon the furthest slope you know

It almost speaks to you.


SunsetMössebergSwedenForestTreeNatureThen as horizons step

Or noons report away

Without the formula of sound

It passes and we stay –


A quality of loss

Affecting our content

As trade had suddenly encroached

Upon a sacrament.

Lines Written in Early Spring

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.


WaterStreamNatureSpringSnowTo 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.FlowerSpringRoad


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?