The World Is Too Much With Us William Wordsworth

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, 1770 – 1850


The Blossom * William Blake Poem

220px-blake_the_blossomMerry, merry sparrow!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Sees you, swift as arrow,
Seek your cradle narrow,
Near my bosom.

Pretty, pretty robin!
Under leaves so green
A happy blossom
Hears you sobbing, sobbing,
Pretty, pretty robin,
Near my bosom.


Foresight by William Wordsworth – Poetry

 THAT is work of waste and ruin--
          Do as Charles and I are doing!
          Strawberry-blossoms, one and all,
          We must spare them--here are many:
          Look at it--the flower is small,
          Small and low, though fair as any:
          Do not touch it! summers two
          I am older, Anne, than you.

Lily and the Rose, by William Cowper

THE NYMPH must lose her female friend,
  If more admired than she;
But where will fierce contention end,
  If Flowers can disagree?
Within the garden’s peaceful scene         5
  Appeared two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of Queen—
  The Lily and the Rose.
The Rose soon reddened into rage;
  And, swelling with disdain,         10
Appealed to many a Poet’s Page,
  To prove her right to reign.
The Lily’s height bespoke command;
  A fair imperial flower,
She seemed designed for Flora’s hand,         15
  The sceptre of her power!
This civil bick’ring and debate
  The Goddess chanced to hear;
And flew to save, ere yet too late,
  The pride of the parterre!         20
‘Yours is,’ she said, ‘the noblest hue;
  And yours, the statelier mien;
And, till a third surpasses you,
  Let each be deemed a Queen!’
Thus soothed and reconciled, each seeks         25
  The fairest British Fair;
The seat of empire is her cheeks,
  They reign united there.

Spring – William Shakespeare (1598)

Song, from Act V, Scene 2 of Love’s Labors Lost by William Shakespeare (1598)

cornflowers-and-daisies-18649When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.

558_001When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he:
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.