Utopia

If I could scare the light away,No sun should ever shine;If I could bid the clouds obey,Thick darkness should be mine:Where’er my weary footsteps roam,I hate whate’er I see;And Fancy builds a fairer homeIn slumber’s hour for me.

I had a vision yesternightOf a lovelier land than this,Where heaven was clothed in warmth and light,Where earth was full of bliss;And every tree was rich with fruits,And every field with flowers,And every zephyr wakened lutesIn passion-haunted bowers.

I clambered up a lofty rock,And did not find it steep;I read through a page and a half of Locke,And did not fall asleep;I said whate’er I may but feel,I paid whate’er I owe;And I danced one day an Irish reel,With the gout in every toe.

And I was more than six feet high,And fortunate, and wise;And I had a voice of melodyAnd beautiful black eyes;My horses like the lightning went,My barrels carried true,And I held my tongue at an argument,And winning cards at loo.

I saw an old Italian priestWho spoke without disguise;I dined with a judge who swore, like Best,All libels should be lies:I bought for a penny a twopenny loaf,Of wheat, and nothing more;I danced with a female philosophe,Who was not quite a bore.

The kitchens there had richer roast,The sheep wore whiter wool;I read a witty Morning Post,And an innocent John Bull:The gaolers had nothing at all to do,The hangman looked forlorn,And the Peers had passed a vote or twoFor freedom of trade in corn.

There was a crop of wheat, which grewWhere plough was never brought;There was a noble lord, who knewWhat he was never taught:A scheme appeared in the GazetteFor a lottery with no blanks;And a Parliament had lately met,Without a single Bankes.

And there were kings who never wentTo cuffs for half-a-crown;And lawyers who were eloquentWithout a wig and gown;And sportsmen who forebore to praiseTheir greyhounds and their guns;And poets who deserved the bays,And did not dread the duns.

And boroughs were bought without a test,And no man feared the Pope;And the Irish cabins were all possessedOf liberty and soap;And the Chancellor, feeling very sick,Had just resigned the seals;And a clever little CatholicWas hearing Scotch appeals.

I went one day to a Court of LawWhere a fee had been refused;And a Public School I really sawWhere the rod was never used;And the sugar still was very sweet,Though all the slaves were free;And all the folk in Downing StreetHad learnt the rule of three.

There love had never a fear or doubt,December breathed like June:The Prima Donna ne’er was outOf temper--or of tune;The streets were paved with mutton pies,Potatoes ate like pine;Nothing looked black but a woman’s eyes;Nothing grew old but wine.

It was an idle dream; but thou,The worshipped one, wert there,With thy dark clear eyes and beaming brow,White neck and floating hair;And oh, I had an honest heart,And a house of Portland stone;And thou wert dear, as still thou art,And more than dear, my own!

Oh bitterness!--the morning brokeAlike for boor and bard;And thou wert married when I woke,And all the rest was marred:And toil and trouble, noise and steam,Came back with the coming ray;And, if I thought the dead could dream,I’d hang myself to-day!