The world is too much with us

Whenever I work more than a few days in a row without doing anything real (i.e. reading), I find that I'm not really the same. This happens on weekends, when I go from spending the whole week studying to working late and sleeping late. This summer when this happened I picked up an old Norton Anthology and randomly read some of Wordsworth's sonnets. This one stuck out:

     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!
         The 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;                         10
         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 wreathed horn.

Link: Article on English poetry