WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

��The World

'""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.

��5 $6. Ode

Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

INHERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, A The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore ; Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

2246 X 6og

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