Tuesday, October 4, 2022

WRITTEN IN LONDON, September, 1802 by William Wordsworth

WRITTEN IN LONDON,
 September, 1802 
by William Wordsworth


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 shew; mean handywork 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, expence,

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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