Scenes of SUSTech
| 03/13/2020

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…

William Wordsworth, “Lines Written in Early Spring”

2020, 03-13
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