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 dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'

For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.

This solitary Tree! a living thing Produced too slowly ever to decay; Of form and aspect too magnificent To be destroyed.

The soft blue sky did never melt Into his heart; he never felt The witchery of the soft blue sky!