Written In London. September, 1802

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 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.

Next 10 Poems

• William Wordsworth : Written In March
• William Wordsworth : Written With A Pencil Upon A Stone In The Wall Of The House, On The Island At Grasmere
• William Wordsworth : Yarrow Revisited
• William Wordsworth : Yarrow Unvisited
• William Wordsworth : Yarrow Visited. September, 1814
• James Wright : A Blessing
• James Wright : A Note Left In Jimmy Leonard's Shack
• James Wright : A Poem About George Doty In The Death House
• James Wright : A Winter Daybreak Above Vence
• James Wright : As I Step Over A Puddle At The End Of Winter, I Think Of An Ancient Chinese Governor

Previous 10 Poems

• William Wordsworth : Written In Germany, On One Of The Coldest Days Of The Century
• William Wordsworth : With Ships The Sea Was Sprinkled Far And Nigh,
• William Wordsworth : Wishing-gate, The
• William Wordsworth : We Are Seven
• William Wordsworth : Waterfall And The Eglantine, The
• William Wordsworth : Valedictory Sonnet To The River Duddon
• William Wordsworth : Upon Westminster Bridge
• William Wordsworth : Two Thieves, The
• William Wordsworth : Two April Mornings, The
• William Wordsworth : To The Same Flower ( Second Poem )