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 wreathèd horn.<br /><br />William Wordsworth<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-world-is-too-much-with-us/
