William wordsworth wrote it in early spring.
I heard a thousand mixed notes, when I leaned contentedly in a small forest, in that sweet mood, when happy thoughts brought sad thoughts to my mind. Nature associates the human soul that passes through me with her beautiful works; It makes my heart very sad to think about how people make people.
Through the cherry grass, in the green pavilion, Catharanthus roseus drags its wreath; I believe every flower likes the air it breathes. The birds around me jump and play, and their thoughts are beyond my estimation:-but the slightest movement they make seems to be a happy tremor.
The sprouting shoots spread their fans to catch the breeze; I must try my best to think that it is fun. If this belief from heaven is sent, if this is the sacred plan of nature, is there no reason for me to lament that human beings created human beings?
I was lying in the woods, listening to Qian Qian's harmonious voice, carefree mood, happy thoughts, but worried. Nature passed on her beautiful things through the soul I contacted. I was very sad and remembered how people treated people. In the shade, there are some periwinkles weaving garlands among primroses. I am convinced that every flower, big or small, can enjoy the air it breathes.
The birds around me are jumping and playing. I don't know what they are thinking, but every tiny move seems to arouse my inner joy. Buds in bud spread their arms like fans, catching the breeze, which made me deeply feel that they also had their own joy. If God tells me to believe this, if this is the intention of nature, is there no reason for me to lament how people treat people?