THIS IS A POEM BY WILLIAM WORDS WORTH I LEARNT AT SCHOOL IN SEVENTH STANDARD I THINK. AT THAT TIME IT WAS JUST A POEM TODAY IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME UNDER CURRENT CIRCUMSTANCES WHEN THE HUMAN RACE HAS BEEN CHALLENGED BY MOTHER NATURE TO TELL US WE ARE MERE MORTALS
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Originally published: 1807
The World Is Too Much With Us
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;
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 wreathèd horn.
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.