The World Is Too Much With Us; Late And Soon

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.

by William Wordsworth

Comments (17)

so, enjoy reading Bukowski. so what? that make me bad, mad or indifferent?
The man playing from the little radio begs for the words his piano is speaking, and someone, in rain or shine, through the ages has to try to say it. We just keep trying to get it right, until we leave...
Was Bukowski a poet?
True to the heart's content poem...like a lot-10
........love the title...and love the theme....great write ★
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