William Wordsworth

England, 1802 (i)

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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