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Written in London, September, 1802 by William Wordsworth |
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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 handy-work 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.
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