London, MDCCCII
(William Wordsworth, 1770-1850)
O friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being as I am, opprest
to think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook,
Or groom! - We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest;
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in Nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:
The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.