too much.

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-gather'd 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 wreathèd horn.