I found myself thinking of this poem today, as the weather was so lovely. I wanted to go somewhere to savor the day. Instead I went to Macy's.
Anyway, it is National Poetry Month.
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! The 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; 10 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.