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. 


This is part of a poem by William Wordsworth that I learnt at school more than fifty years ago, and all of a sudden it popped into my head as I enjoyed a walk through the sunny but cold park this morning.
It was written in 1802 when the Industrial Revolution was well under way, a time when I suppose many people had little enough time to appreciate the healing power of nature. These days we know better, and though I can’t really see myself forest bathing, I wish more people in the park could take time to look at their surroundings instead of being wrapped up in their mobiles, earphones or newspapers.