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2014-01-28T18:06:13+01:00
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 beA 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 wreathèd horn.
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