Poetry Monday: 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!

 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

 1806