 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Lines written in early spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by Beth Zabrowski. I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines written in early spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by David Barnes. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by Jeremy Dalton on the 28th of March 2007 in Dubai of EnglishNomad.com. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw me ran, and much had 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by Howard Dratch in Bacalar, Mexico. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw me ran, and much had 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines written in early spring by William Wordsworth, read for LibraVox.org by Gemma Blythe. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did nature link the human soul that threw 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. End of Poem. 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. 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 parawinkle 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. End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by Laurie Ann Walden. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 reeds, 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? End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Burgoyne. I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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? End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Larissa Jewarski I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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? End of Poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Martin Clifton I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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? End of Poem This recording is in the public domain Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Mark Smith I heard a thousand blended notes while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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, the 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 reasoned to lament what man has made of man? End of Poem This recording is in the public domain Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Peter Bobby I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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 reasoned to lament what man has made of man? End of Poem This recording is in the public domain Lines Written in Early Spring by William Wordsworth Read for LibriVox.org by Ron Phillips I heard a thousand blended notes, while in a grove I sat 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 threw 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 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 reasoned to lament what man has made of man? End of Poem