Poem by William Wordsworth

Sonnet 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 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. 

1. Roman Antiquities
2. Inscription Intended for a Stone in the Grounds of Rydal Mount
3. On Revisiting Dunolly Castle
4. Iona
5. Monument of Mrs. Howard

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