| Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875. |
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| W. Wordsworth |
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| CCLXXVIII. "The world is too much with us" |
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| 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, | 5 |
| 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,— | 10 |
| 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. | |
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