The world is too much with us; late and soon
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's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The world is too much with us; late and soon by William Wordsworth )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- After The Interview..., Morgan Michaels
- Where the Rapture?, Estelle Pigot
- I love you, Hafeni Nghidinua
- haikindof, Mandolyn ...
- Are You Pissed Yet, Francie Lynch
- Mirror (Haiku), Jesus James Llorico
- make mine extra crispy, Mandolyn ...
- ~Death Of My Creations~, Allan Gerard
- Captivations of an Art Form, F. J. Thomas
- Me Without You Is Like, Lilly Emery