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 wreathed horn.
--William Wordsworth
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2 comments:
i have not read this one...
Ohhhhh, how I used to love me some Wordsworth! Not so much anymore - if you can believe it, I've been cured of *some* of the whimsy that I wore like clothing during my "romantic poets" days...have walked Rydal Mount in stormy weather with my heart in my throat, sat for hours breathing in nature - trying to dream his dreams and then write his words. Never worked! :o) Still enjoy him but not to my bones like I used to.
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