Cellphone Stories
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; (1)
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, (2)
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus (3) rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton (4) blow his wreathed horn.
NOTES:
(1) Brought up in an outdated religion.
(2) Meadow.
(3) Greek sea god capable of taking many shapes.
(4) Another sea god, often depicted as trumpeting on a shell.
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225. SLAGA.COM says
Jah ths poems rockz
Report this comment224. #ff8000*/:)po0h+bear:}/ says
This is great
Report this comment223. #2010ffPHUM2LIE:-) says
Nyc indeed poem
Report this comment222. #ff8080.+.+.+.+.+.+.+$Sn0wBaLl says
They are not my type
Report this comment221. #ffff00*/_JHONY+BRAVO_/* says
Its gud thou
Report this comment220. #0000ffMan#ff0000dla says
Any one wu lykd ths poem , i recommnd shld also read report to wordsworth by ching
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