The World Is Too Much With Us – Lipogram
Not from Intimations of Immortality
Let’s see whether he needed the letter E…
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Not from Intimations of Immortality
Let’s see whether he needed the letter E…
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.
The World Is Too Much With Us – Lipogram
This world is too much with us: fairly soon
working and shopping drain our capital,
and show us almost nothing natural;
our soul is thrown away, a sordid boon.
That flood which flaunts its bosom, moon to moon,
that wind which howls and howls, continual:
all’s a sad bloom, shut down and dropsical
for our disastrous choirs that flatly croon,
lacking all passion. Think of this, good Lord:
brought up a pagan in a faith outworn,
what might I look at, on this dainty sward!
Such sights and sounds, I couldn’t stay forlorn:
a zoomorph, that zooms Apollo–ward,
a Triton, tooting on his wrack–fraught horn.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by William Wordsworth...
On a Major London Crossing
Lines Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
William Wordsworth (1770-1850)
Lines Composed Upon Westminster Bridge
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
On a Major London Crossing
World, you just can’t show anything so fair!
What kind of dismal spirit could pass by
a sight so touching? Such nobility!
This City now has clothing on. Such flair!
A matutinal glory, for our Mayor –
cupolas, atria, auditoria, high
sails, holy halls, ‘twixt rustic sward and sky,
shining in post-Bronowski soot-scant air.
Nobody’s caught such sunlight grandly soaking
in its first warmth, low scarp, or rock, or hill;
I don’t know anything so worry-slaking!
Our liquid history rolls on at will.
O loving God! That housing stock’s not waking,
and that prodigious pump is lying still.
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès
More poems by William Wordsworth...
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
World, you just can’t show anything so fair!
What kind of dismal spirit could pass by
a sight so touching? Such nobility!
This City now has clothing on. Such flair!
A matutinal glory, for our Mayor –
cupolas, atria, auditoria, high
sails, holy halls, ‘twixt rustic sward and sky,
shining in post-Bronowski soot-scant air.
Nobody’s caught such sunlight grandly soaking
in its first warmth, low scarp, or rock, or hill;
I don’t know anything so worry-slaking!
Our liquid history rolls on at will.
O loving God! That housing stock’s not waking,
and that prodigious pump is lying still.