The World is Too Much with Us

The cool kiss of crystal rock
Is all that will ever touch my lips,
The hot crisp of the sun’s rays
And the icy tips of frozen blocks

Enough, this rock, these broken grains
Of earth and sand, the fine sky,
The cool wind, and the barren plains,
Stretching out empty, trackless miles

Like the midnight hours and the counting of stars,
The blaze of dark in the meteor sky,
And a forlorn little whisper, why

Do the constellations dip and track,
Trace and fall to the dregs of dawn
And the creeping rays like a forlorn call?