Page:The Prelude, Wordsworth, 1850.djvu/365

BOOK XIII.] There are who think that strong affection, love

Known by whatever name, is falsely deemed

A gift, to use a term which they would use,

Of vulgar nature; that its growth requires

Retirement, leisure, language purified

By manners studied and elaborate;

That whoso feels such passion in its strength

Must live within the very light and air

Of courteous usages refined by art.

True is it, where oppression worse than death

Salutes the being at his birth, where grace

Of culture hath been utterly unknown,

And poverty and labour in excess

From day to day pre-occupy the ground

Of the affections, and to Nature's self

Oppose a deeper nature; there, indeed,

Love cannot be; nor does it thrive with ease

Among the close and overcrowded haunts

Of cities, where the human heart is sick,

And the eye feeds it not, and cannot feed.

—Yes, in those wanderings deeply did I feel

How we mislead each other; above all,

How books mislead us, seeking their reward

From judgments of the wealthy Few, who see

By artificial lights; how they debase