The World is Too Much With Us
by William Wordsworth, 1806, memorized in high school
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 everything, 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.
1806.
The world is too much with us. Late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.
Little we see around us that is ours:
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours
And are upgathered now like sleeping flowers....
It moves us not. Great God, I'd rather be
A pagan suckled in a creed outworn.
So might I, standing on this pleasant lee
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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