Monday, 6 July 2009

London 1802 (and 2009?)

A sonnet by Wordsworth. Milton! Thou shoulds't be living at this hour; England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again: And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star and dwelt apart: Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea; Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

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