Oh, blank confusion! true epitome
Of what the mighty city is herself,
To thousands upon thousands of her sons,
Living amid the same perpetual whirl
Of trivial objects, melted and reduced
To one identity, by differences
That have no law, no meaning, and no end
William Wordsworth (1770–1850), British poet. The Prelude; VII. Residence in London (l. 722–728).
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Do you think this poem is about confusion or conformity…or something else? The word “blank” makes me think makes me think that the confusion has become so normal that it is no longer apparent.
I suspect that it is about London and how overwhleming the changes were that the Industrial Revolution brought to it.