The world is too much with us; late and soon, <br /> Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: <br /> Little we see in Nature that is ours; <br /> We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! <br /> This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; <br /> The winds that will be howling at all hours, <br /> And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; <br /> For this, for everything, we are out of tune, <br /> It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be <br /> A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; <br /> So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, <br /> Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; <br /> Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; <br /> Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-world-is-too-much-with-us-late-and-soon-2/
