POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY WHY, William, on that old grey stone, Why, William, sit you thus alone, And dream your time away? "Where are your books? that light bequeathed To beings else forlorn and blind! Up! up! and drink the spirit breathed "You look round on your mother earth, One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, "The eye, it cannot choose but see; 'Nor less I deem that there are powers 66 Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum That nothing of itself will come, "Then ask not wherefore, here, alone, I sit upon this old grey stone, THE TABLES TURNED AN EVENING SCENE ON THE SAME SUBJECT 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, 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. |