William Wordsworth was one irritated man with the fast pace of the world. That was nearly 200 years ago.
 I am not sure with how much horror he would react to the world in 2016 but I can safely assume that he wouldn’t be amused. WW started something spectacular in the wake of the Industrial Revolution with his collection of eclectic poetry (people in his time were horrified with his simplistic- return-to-the-barn style) along with his doped up genius friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The movement, Romanticism had nothing to do with romance in the mundane use of the word. Instead, like Transcendentalism, it urged man to go back to his roots_ nature. The splendours of the natural world are the only truth and man is but a little part of something much greater than himself.
I recently moved into a new apartment block and had some Comcast guys over to connect me to the spidery yarn(… just my superfluous way of saying the internet). There were wires to be connected and things to be tested and so much at stake for all my toys to come alive that I felt old William whispering in my head something I had read for my masters’ poetry course a few years back. Have a read. What do you think?
The World is Too 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 wreathèd horn.
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