Classic Poem

Where Ruskin Dreamed

Where Ruskin dreamed, where Southey and Wordsworth sung,
Hear now the strange hoot of the motor-car!
Among the mountains, watched by star on star,
Hills unto which the arms of white clouds clung
Soft and divine, what maddening sounds have rung!
What foul petroleum-fumes stream forth and mar
Morn's fragrance where morn's countless blossoms are,
Or were,—in days when England's soul was young.

Had Ruskin marked these conquests fully achieved,
His mountain-paths profaned by poisonous smoke,—
Had Wordsworth's woodlands such defilement known,—
How would their great pure passionate hearts have grieved!
As, humble, I grieve to see my City invoke
New gods, and quit for ever her timeless throne.English