Quick-flowing creamy light and all cohering:
Faux fanes in gardens, Nash and Wesley’s shades,
Gold, gaily weighty houses, rocketing sky,
And open hillside turning as I turn,
All witnessed through ancestral engineering,
Small canny bones and inward fine parades
We had no part in, choiceless ear and eye
Meting out pleasure I could never earn.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
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