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.
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More Poems by William Wordsworth
• I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud
• Lucy Gray
• Nutting
• The Rainbow
• The Solitary Reaper
• The World Is To Much With Us; Late And Soon
• We Are Seven
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• Emily Dickinson
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• Hilaire Belloc
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• Robert Browning
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Wordsworth The World Is Too Much With Us - Poem Lyrics - William Wordsworth - The World Is Too Much With Us; Late And Soon
