"The world is too much with us" by William Wordsworth

XXXIII.

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 every thing, 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.

Source of the text - The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth, edited by Edward Dowden, Volume III.  London, George Bell & Sons, 1892, p. 21.

TJB: Titan-envy. Really, WW, you of all people rhyme boon & moon, hours & flowers? Really, we’re less connected to Nature than the pagans of old?