The poem has something of holy in it -> natural elements.
This is a Petrarchan sonnet ‘cause there is a final couplet that gives a solution at the two quatrains and at line 9 there is a turning point.
Wordsworth prayed the nature instead the usual beloved of the sonnets.
In this poem, the author says that the harmony that used to be in the past is broken by the modern men -> They have destroyed it with the industrial buildings/society.
• In the first two quatrains, he speaks about the men who is destroying the nature around him. Industrial time -> if before their life was the country life and the nature was essential, now the men have an industrial life and their needs are far the nature. The men lost the essential part of theirselves and they cared more and more far new needs than before (not care for the nature).
• In the last two triplets, after the turning point, the poet passed from the present to the past (= pagan). He says that the pagans were much better than we are ‘cause they lived in contact with the nature and worship all the natural elements ‘cause they thought that there was a divinity (pantheism) -> paradox: the uncivilized were better than civilized.
The pagans realized that the secret of live was to live linked with the nature -> the poet regretted not to be a pagan who lived in contact with the nature and loved it.
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.
Il mondo sta troppo con noi, prima o poi,
Ricevendo e spendendo, noi perderemo le nostre facoltà;
Abbiamo dato via i nostri cuori, un sordido bottino.
Il mare che mostrava il suo petto alla luna;
I venti che ululano tutte le ore,
E ora sono raccolti come fiori dormienti;
Da questo, per tutto, noi siamo fuori tono;
Non ci commuove. – Grande Dio! Io preferirei essere
Un pagano nutrito di una vecchia religione;
Così potrei, in piedi in questa piacevole prateria,
Avere visioni che mi renderebbe meno triste,
Avere visione di Prometeo che emerge dal mare
O ascoltare il vecchio Tritone soffiare il suo inghirlandato corno.