William Wordsworth

But Europe at that time was thrilled with joy,
France standing on the top of golden hours,
And human nature seeming born again.

Father!–to God himself we cannot give a holier name.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Appareled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore—
Turn wheresoe’er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.