Poetry Archives

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.