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Silke Lance

Sep 30, 2004, 10:30 PM

The world is too much with us

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

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 wreathÃ¨d horn.

+Steven Curtis Lance

Oct 01, 2004, 01:06 AM

Oh, I adore this sonnet!

William Wordsworth, Poet Laureate of England... what a great immortal, what a mahatma.

He really understood what is important in life, and wrote better in English of nature than anyone since Herrick before him.

Thank you so much for posting this. It is a true paradigm and inspiration to me, as I stand upon the shoulders of giants like this.

DUM SPIRO SPERO

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