This poem comes to mind so often.
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-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not…
Jim Rain For me, too. It’s been on my mind frequently all year. But almost every day since, say, 11pm on November 5.
Robert Breen I love this one too. I memorized it in college and used to freak my kids out by reciting it on hikes in my awful British accent. I’m pretty sure it ruined Wordsworth for them both.