This Wordsworth sonnet came up in conversation last week, and I hadn’t thought of it in a long time. It’s a good poem to think of if you haven’t been hiking for a while, or if you’ve been writing too much Microsoft marketing materials, or if your roommate has found a Russian pen pal who wants to come visit. Very soothing poem, I’d say:
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 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.
And in the same spirit, if you feel it’s all too much but you don’t want to read a poem, take a look at THIS:
BoingBoing has been posting some good stuff lately. Excellent.