The World Is Too Much With Us

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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 wreath├Ęd horn.
by William
Wordsworth

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