The Marshes at Ipswich

High o’er the fen the shielding verdure shoots,And hides the marshy rankness at the roots;The passing glance a waving plain beholds,Nor marks the wat’ry waste the green enfolds;Thus pleasing prospects charm the distant eye,But fade and tarnish as the gaze draws nigh;Thus sceptered pomp, magnificently bright,Turns gross and tawdry to the closer sight.Judge not the world by wealth of outward show,But test the firmness of the soil below!