Sublime

William Wordsworth. 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.

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?


Yo no sé que he estado haciendo todo este tiempo que no conocía la grandeza de este romántico; y la cosa acaba de empezar. Solo diré que espero ese viaje a Lake District (foto arriba), estar en la casita en la cual Wordsworth se inspiró y darme una vuelta por su tumba. Y puede que acostarme delante del lago y deleitarme con la falacia patética.

(Disculpas por poner el original, pero no he encontrado traducción)