Representative Poetry Online

Random Poem of the Day

1The world is too much with us; late and soon,
2Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
3Little we see in Nature that is ours;
4We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
5This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
6The winds that will be howling at all hours,
7And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
8For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
9It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
10A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
12Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
13Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
14Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.


11] Cf. Spenser's Colin Clout's come Home againe, 283, "Yet seemed to be a goodly pleasant lea"; and line 245, "Triton, blowing loud his wreathed horne." Back to Line