Literature Network » William Wordsworth » Poems in Two Volumes, Volume 1 » XIII - Written in London

XIII - Written in London

September, 1802.
  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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