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! The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune.

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.

The education of circumstances is superior to that of tuition.

For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.

Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.

Books! tis a dull and endless strife: Come, hear the woodland linnet, How sweet his music! on my life, There's more of wisdom in it.

Minds that have nothing to confer Find little to perceive.