William WordsworthThe world is too much with us


THE world is too much with us: late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

The sea that bares her bosom to the moon:

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.- Great God! I’d rather be

A pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

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