This 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, like this sea that bares her bosom to the moon, or the winds that will be howling at all hours and are upgathered now like sleeping flowers. with this, with 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 visions that would make me less forlorn, see proteus rising from the sea, or hear old triton blow his wreathed horn.
— William Wordsworth
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