is William Wordsworth's poem below. Actually, it's only the first line, and to be honest, I had no clue what poem it was from, it just kept running in my head. For some reason, this line comes to me...perhaps because it is so popular. I have lots of time as I drive from home to work, and sometimes verses just spin around in my head, and I think about the time when I actually studied literature. Whereas now, I just spend my time preaching about subject verb agreement. Even if I had chosen to teach older students, my time to be a student (and just study lit. for pleasure) would be somewhat over. On that note, my students and I will be starting our poetry unit in a few weeks! So I guess that time isn't completely over. :)
These scraps of lines that I think about and the favorite poems that I collect, they all mean so much to me. Yet to everyone else they are just meaningless words. Some of the poems may actually be found beautiful, but it pains me that what I consider so precious is deemed worthless.
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.
12 hours ago