1The world is too much with us; late and soon,
2Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
3Little we see in Nature that is ours;
4We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
5The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
6The winds that will be howling at all hours,
7And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
8For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
9It moves us not.— Great God! I’d rather be
10A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
11So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
12Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
13Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
14Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.