The World Is Too Much With Us
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. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
—William Wordsworth
It was raining, and my face was wet.
Hugh Thomson, from Quality street, a comedy in four acts, by James Matthew Barrie, London, 1913.
(via littlerunawaywolf)
Happy Birthday
so many favorites—here is one
Well, I am now officially obsessed with Miroslava Duma. There are more pictures to come. Trust me.
