"The world is too much with us late and soon Getting spending we lay waste our powers— Little see in Nature that ours We have given hearts away a sordid boon! This Sea bares her bosom to the moon The winds will be howling at all hours And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers For this for everything out of tune It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather A Pagan suckled creed outworn So might I standing on this pleasant lea Have glimpses would make me less forlorn sight Proteus rising from sea Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn."