William Wordsworth (1770–1850)

IF thou be one whose heart the holy forms

Of young imagination have kept pure,

Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that pride,

Howe’er disguised in its own majesty,

Is littleness; that he who feels contempt

For any living thing hath faculties

Which he has never used; that thought with him

Is in its infancy. The man whose eye

Is ever on himself doth look on one

The least of Nature’s works, one who might move

The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds

Unlawful ever. O be wiser, Thou!

Instructed that true knowledge leads to love;

True dignity abides with him alone

Who, in the silent hour of inward thought,

Can still suspect, and still revere himself,

In lowliness of heart.