. O Friend! I know not which way I must look <br /> For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, <br /> To think that now our life is only drest <br /> For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, <br /> Or groom! -- We must run glittering like a brook <br /> In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: <br /> The wealthiest man among us is the best: <br /> No grandeur now in nature or in book <br /> Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, <br /> This is idolatry; and these we adore: <br /> Plain living and high thinking are no more: <br /> The homely beauty of the good old cause <br /> Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, <br /> And pure religion breathing household laws.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-in-london-september-1802/
