The World Is To 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 wreathed horn.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Related quotes
The world is too much with us; late and soon
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 wreathed horn.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The World
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-gather'd 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 wreathed horn.
poem by William Wordsworth
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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!
William Wordsworth in The World is Too Much With Us
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The world is too much with us late and soon,Getting and spending, we lay waste our powersLittle we see in Nature that is oursWe have given our hearts away, a sordid boon
quote by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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.
quote by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gaia’s Plan
Please, don’t sweep the leaves away –
Their essence gives to life’s decay.
Never hack the flowers down –
Their colours bless the laughing clown.
Now why the mowing of the lawn?
The severed grass will lie forlorn.
Let our flora live undressed,
Or under Man, will toil repressed!
I, the tree of standing still –
Erect and proud, and stout of will,
Aglow with motley bark of earth –
Advance my roots for all they’re worth,
Internalising Nature’s bowels
To snag the devil, tweak his jowls
And pull his hairs from whence they grow!
I’ll destroy his pagan show
Of Homo sapiens’ disrespect!
The humble ape must reconnect
With Gaia’s plan!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
nature nature nature nature nature nature's creature
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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The Wayward Wolf and Winter Owl
The wayward wolf howls to the misty moon,
His heart filled with sorrow,
That he spills into dead of night,
And echoes into silence of another cry,
Never stopping to let his weary feet rest,
Intensifying his cry.
The winter owl soars below the hollow moon,
Singing its sad tune,
Into sight as it sings and sighs,
Catching the sight of a wayward weary eye,
Together they meet and greet the rising of the dreary moon,
Filling their songs with the tune of the morrow,
Blending their hearts and souls in the tune of the morning’s morrow.
‘Till the moon doth rise again
poem by Talia Anziliero
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Lullaby
DAY has fled to the west afar,
Where no shadows or sorrows are;
O'er earth's radiant western rim
God has gathered the day to him.
Hush! the river of night is here,
Flowing silently, cool and clear,
With its mystical thoughts that throng
And its silences deep as song.
Babe of my bosom, sleep;
Tender, sweet blossom, sleep!
Hearts may ache
While the long hours go creeping;
Hearts may break
While my baby is sleeping;
Never wake,
Though thy mother is weeping;
Babe of my bosom, sleep!
Sleep! the silence is all around,
Save the sighings that are not sound,
Where the wind in the branches weaves
Mystic melodies through the leaves;
Or the far-away murmurings
Like the stir of an angel's wings.
Only night is about us now—
Child, the earth is as tired as thou.
Babe of my bosom, sleep;
Tender, sweet blossom, sleep!
Hearts may ache
While the long hours go creeping,
Hearts may break
While my baby is sleeping:
Never wake.
Though thy mother is weeping;
Babe of my bosom, sleep!
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Flower-Life
I think that, next to your sweet eyes,
And pleasant books, and starry skies,
I love the world of flowers;
Less for their beauty of a day,
Than for the tender things they say,
And for a creed I've held alway,
That they are sentient powers.
It may be matter for a smile --
And I laugh secretly the while
I speak the fancy out --
But that they love, and that they woo,
And that they often marry too,
And do as noisier creatures do,
I've not the faintest doubt.
And so, I cannot deem it right
To take them from the glad sunlight,
As I have sometimes dared;
Though not without an anxious sigh
Lest this should break some gentle tie,
Some covenant of friendship, I
Had better far have spared.
And when, in wild or thoughtless hours,
My hand hath crushed the tiniest flowers,
I ne'er could shut from sight
The corpses of the tender things,
With other drear imaginings,
And little angel-flowers with wings
Would haunt me through the night.
Oh! say you, friend, the creed is fraught
With sad, and even with painful thought,
Nor could you bear to know
That such capacities belong
To creatures helpless against wrong,
At once too weak to fly the strong
Or front the feeblest foe?
So be it always, then, with you;
So be it -- whether false or true --
I press my faith on none;
If other fancies please you more,
The flowers shall blossom as before,
Dear as the Sibyl-leaves of yore,
But senseless, every one.
Yet, though I give you no reply,
It were not hard to justify
My creed to partial ears;
But, conscious of the cruel part,
My rhymes would flow with faltering art,
I could not plead against your heart,
Nor reason with your tears.
poem by Henry Timrod
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It's A Weed
Greed is like a weed once planted it can forever grow without a single seed needed to be sewn.
It kills all the beautiful flowers and vegetables and takes their stead.
About impossible to kill.
Then when it comes to the great harvest theirs nothing left.
A barren waste land is all that seen for miles.
A sight completely surreal.
Defiled by this grotesque entity that bares no use to us as human beings.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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With The Wonders Of Nature
With the wonders of Nature nothing to compare
And the Goddess of Nature she lives everywhere
And the secrets of Nature not for humans to know
At the magic of Nature our wonder does grow.
The beauty of Nature is for all to see
It is all around you and it is all around me
The cold winds of Winter blow up from the sea
But how lovely the pink flowers bloom on the camellia tree.
The music of Nature an amazing thing
On trees and on bushes the birds chirp and sing
I feel that to Nature us humans too belong
Though in saying that some may say I have got it wrong.
The beauty of Nature I see every day
And I marvel at her is all I can say
The passing of her Seasons have left me looking gray
And in her dark earthy bosom my remains will lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poet Pleads With The Elemental Powers
THE Powers whose name and shape no living creature knows
Have pulled the Immortal Rose;
And though the Seven Lights bowed in their dance and wept,
The Polar Dragon slept,
His heavy rings uncoiled from glimmering deep to deep:
When will he wake from sleep?
Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire,
With your harmonious choir
Encircle her I love and sing her into peace,
That my old care may cease;
Unfold your flaming wings and cover out of sight
The nets of day and night.
Dim powers of drowsy thought, let her no longer be
Like the pale cup of the sea,
When winds have gathered and sun and moon burned dim
Above its cloudy rim;
But let a gentle silence wrought with music flow
Whither her footsteps go.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Three Songs
I
Where love is life
The roses blow,
Though winds be rude
And cold the snow,
The roses climb
Serenely slow,
They nod in rhyme
We know--we know
Where love is life
The roses blow.
Where life is love
The roses blow,
Though care be quick
And sorrows grow,
Their roots are twined
With rose-roots so
That rosebuds find
A way to show
Where life is love
The roses blow.
II
Nothing came here but sunlight,
Nothing fell here but rain,
Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
Here are the flowers again!
No one came here but you, dear,
You with your magic train
Of brightness and laughter and lightness,
Here is my joy again!
III
I have songs of dancing pleasure,
I have songs of happy heart,
Songs are mine that pulse in measure
To the throbbing of the mart.
Songs are mine of magic seeming,
In a land of love forlorn,
Where the joys are had for dreaming,
At a summons from the horn.
But my sad songs come unbidden,
Rising with a wilder zest,
From the bitter pool that's hidden,
Deep--deep--deep within my breast.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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The W.C. (Humorous)
If there’s one place in the house we can’t do without
it must then be the W.C. that doesn’t really stand out.
It is our main port of call during the day and night
that we all use to answer calls of nature out of sight.
And what goes on in there sometimes is hard to believe
but we feel good after our bowels we gratefully relieve.
For it’s a fact of life that our body produces much waste
from what we all consume as food pleasant or not to taste.
The smells, sights and sounds coming from there can be awesome to behold
before or after anyone has a session in there that one needs to be bold.
It is for this reason a whole industry has evolved over the years in its wake
as we try to do away with any unpleasantness that all our bodies make.
The amount of time we spend in there can be a blessing in disguise
as we eliminate the waste products of our bodies in variable size.
Whether it is gases, liquids or solids depends on the urge
but one thing is certain that with all of them we must purge.
And as far as a blessing goes how many people have received
an insight or solution to a problem that previously deceived.
After spending some time in the W.C. with a good evacuation
we usually give thanks to the powers that be in contemplation.
It is as if we must return or give back some part taken from the earth
and of this we cannot or should not ever be neglectful from our birth.
This inherent law or principle of nature seems to be unrelenting in its demands
that we jeopardise physical and mental health if we don’t adhere to its commands.
-----------------
poem by George Krokos
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Shepherds All And Maidens Fair
PIPE, shepherds, pipe, the summer's ripe;
So wreathe your crooks with flowers;
The world's in tune to Love and June,
The days are rich in hours,
In rosy hours, in golden hours--
Love's crown and fortune fair,
So gather gold for Love to hold,
And flowers for Love to wear!
Sing, maidens, sing! A dancing ring
Of pleasures speed your way;
Too harsh and dry is fierce July,
Too maiden-meek was May;
But Love and June their old sweet tune
Are singing at your ear:
So learn the song and troop along
To meet your shepherds dear!
Oh, Chloris fair, a rose to wear,
And gold to spend have I--
When all are gay on this June day
You would not bid me sigh?
You would not scorn a swain forlorn--
Each shepherd far and near
Hastes to his sweet, with flying feet,
As I towards my dear.
No maids there be in Arcady
But have their shepherds true;
Must you alone despise the one
Who only pipes for you?
You have no ear my pipe to hear
Though all for you it be;
And I no eyes for her who sighs
And only sings for me!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Winds of rebirth
The invirogating winds
Of sweet rebirth are blowing
Our noble sons and daughters are
Drinking from the great well
Of united opposition of fighting
Over trivial things
The early morning breeze comes
To comfort your children great
Mother Africa
The beautiful sea wind opens
Her loving heart to you mother
The North wind of peace asks
You to be merciful Mother Africa
And teach us to love one another
So.Blow.You winds.Blow in
The winds of rebirth and love
And fraternity and universal justice
To the children of the world
We don't want to wallow in poverty
And grim squalor and exploitation
Blow.Ye kind hearted winds.Blow
to the world that denies multi-racism
Blow ye winds of loving freedom blow
Blow my brothers in peace
The world is united the world knows
Only one race dear windward brothers
Blow ye winds who love humanity
Blow to shatter away the idols of
False hypocrite racism for you know wind
There is only one race and that
Is the human race my windy brothers
And anything else is a fake fabrication
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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My Plea
I send you my letter
you who reads hearts better
to tell you how life is turning sour
and that my sorrows are more
I send you this prayer
you who shows that you care
when life proves bitter
a wound without cure
i send you this case
you who bares no curse
for my actions so coarse
and that my heart bares a crust.
I send you this hymn
you who knows life's theme
please keep my lips in tune
and receive my life; a song out of tune
I send you my plea
you who'll never flea!
poem by Timothy muggaga
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At the gathering of the flowers
At the gathering of the flowers
Someone waits with the rising sun
There in the wee small hours
That is where love has begun
And there with the angels above
At the gathering of the flowers
To her I do profess my love
With her I will spend all my remaining hours
Where love empowers
Is where I will meet my love
At the gathering of the flowers
With desires undreamt of
Winter winds howl about my face
But the cold shall forever cower
From your warm embrace
At the gathering of the flowers
© JPM 7/18/08
Standing On The Moon
Standing on the moon
I got no cobweb on my shoe
Standing on the moon
Im feeling so alone and blue
I see the gulf of mexico
As tiny as a tear
The coast of california
Must be somewhere over here - over here
Standing on the moon
I see the battle rage below
Standing on the moon
I see the soldiers come and go
Theres a metal flag beside me
Someone planted long ago
Old glory standing stiffly
Crimson, white and indigo - indigo
I see all of southeast asia
I can see el salvador
I hear the cries of children
And the other songs of war
Its like a mighty melody
That rings down from the sky
Standing here upon the moon
I watch it all roll by - all roll by
Standing on the moon
With nothing else to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you
Standing on the moon
I see a shadow on the sun
Standing on the moon
The stars go fading one by one
I hear a cry of victory
And another of defeat
A scrap of age old lullaby
Down some forgotten street
Standing on the moon
Where talk is cheap and vision true
Standing on the moon
But I would rather be with you
Somewhere in san francisco
On a back porch in july
Just looking up to heaven
At this crescent in the sky
Standing on the moon
With nothing left to do
A lovely view of heaven
But Id rather be with you - be with you
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Time Is Coming
Beautiful Spring is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here,
For the clear bright sun is shining
All human hearts to cheer.
One the brightest gems of nature
Is the orb that o'er us shines,
And o'er the wide creation,
It'll shine to the end of time.
The birds will soon be singing
On shrub and bough of trees,
Their notes will soon be ringing
Out, forth so merrily.
They love the merry spring time,
Those little birds we love,
They love the pleasant sunshine
That comes down from above.
We can hear them sweetly singing
From early morn, till night.
They make music in the woodland
Those little birds; so bright,
We should dearly love them,
Those little harmless things,
And when we hear their music,
We know that it is spring.
Ah; it's pleasant in the springtime,
All nature seems so gay.
Bright flowers in the sunshine,
Sweet fragrance can display.
The hills, and dales, and meadows,
So beautifully covered o'er;
With natures richest verdure,
The green grass, as of yore.
The winter will soon be over,
With its cold and chilly winds.
It is sad and dreary ever,
Yet its dying, free from sin.
Now the springtime is coming,
Ah, yes, will soon be here.
We will welcome in its coming
In this glad new year.
poem by Julia A Moore
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