Admonition to a Traveller

by William Wordsworth

Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye!
— The lovely cottage in the guardian nook
Hath stirr’d thee deeply; with its own dear brook,
Its own small pasture, almost its own sky!

But covet not the abode — O do not sigh
As many do, repining while they look;
Intruders who would tear from Nature’s book
This precious leaf with harsh impiety:

— Think what the home would be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants! — Roof, window, door,
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,

The roses to the porch which they entwine:
Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day
On which it should be touch’d would melt away!