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! 

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. ____William Wordsworth