Up! up! my friend, and quit your books, Or surely you 'll grow double! Up! up! my friend, and clear your looks! Why all this toil and trouble?

The Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society.

My apprehension comes in crowds, I dread the rustling of the grass, The very shadows of the clouds, Have power to shake me as they pass, I question things and do not find, one that will answer to my mind, And all the world appears unkind.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.

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.