17.4: The World Is Too Much With Us by William Wordsworth
- Page ID
- 87435
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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 wreathèd horn.
- The World Is Too Much With Us. Authored by: William Wordsworth. Located at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45564/the-world-is-too-much-with-us. License: Public Domain: No Known Copyright