Wordsworth

11Jul08

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 wreathèd horn.

When you’re losing the plot, or just confused as hell, read this poem and it will centre you. It does for me. I love the exaltation in the middle. This isn’t about dwelling on how crappy things are, rather perspective on how much beauty there is all around you. I think there’s value in that.

Mariz

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