 |
|
|
|
|
User Rating:
|
|
5.6
/10
(8 votes)
|
|
|
|
| |
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 wreathed horn.
William Wordsworth
| Submitted Date |
: |
Saturday, January 04, 2003 |
|
|
Read poems about / on: sea, nature, moon, god, world, howl, flower, power, rose, sleep, wind
|
|
 |
Poets
