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Sonnet

I was going to give you a small simple poem about a coward and a king's son, but then I looked at it and said to myself 'whatever for? just because I feel like typing?'

Here's one with merit:

a Sonnet, by 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!
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;
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 of Proteus rising from the sea,
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Comments

  1. Wonder Jens25 February, 2008 10:58

    I love William Wordsworth. Go figure.

    That poem makes me miss the sea.

    Oh, I think I'm switching my blog to the google one Wonder Jens.

    ReplyDelete

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