Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Nat'l Poetry Month No. 9



The 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! 
This 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 wreath├Ęd horn. 

William Wordsworth


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