Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 2.djvu/107

99 Art thou a man of gallant pride,

A Soldier, and no man of chaff?

Welcome!—but lay thy sword aside,

And lean upon a Peasant's staff.

Physician art thou? One, all eyes,

Philosopher! a fingering slave,

One that would peep and botanize

Upon his mother's grave?

Wrapt closely in thy sensual fleece

O turn aside,—and take, I pray,

That he below may rest in peace,

That abject thing, thy soul, away!

—A Moralist perchance appears;

Led, Heaven knows how! to this poor sod:

And He has neither eyes nor ears;

Himself his world, and his own God;

One to whose smooth-rubbed soul can cling

Nor form, nor feeling, great nor small;

A reasoning, self-sufficing thing,

An intellectual All in All!