Getting and Spending in Amman

City Mall in Amman

Sometimes when i’m walking around City Mall, this poem comes into my mind… particularly the line “getting and spending we way waste our powers”:

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 wreathed horn.

“The world is too much with us”, William Wordsworth, c. 1802
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One Response to Getting and Spending in Amman

  1. The Atrocity Exhibition says:

    Expostulation and Reply

    ‘Why, William, on that old grey stone,
    Thus for the lenght of half a day,
    Why, William, sit you thus alone,
    And dream your time away?

    ‘Where are your books? – that light bequeathed
    To Beings else forlorn and blind!
    Up! Up! and drink the spirit breathed
    From dead men to their kind.

    ‘You look round on your Mother Earth,
    As if she for no purpose bore you;
    As if you were her first-born birth,
    And none had lived before you!’

    One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake,
    When life was sweet, I knew not why,
    To me my good friend Matthew spake,
    And thus I made reply:

    ‘The eye – it cannot choose but see;
    We cannot bid the ear be still;
    Our bodies feel, wher’er they be,
    Against or with our will.

    ‘Nor less I deem that there are Powers
    Which of themselves our minds impress;
    That we can feed this mind of ours
    In a wise passiveness.

    ‘Think you, ’mid all this mighty sum
    Of things for ever speaking,
    That nothing of itself will come,
    But we must still be seeking?

    ‘–Then ask not wherefore, here, alone,
    Conversing as I may,
    I sit upon this old grey stone,
    And dream my time away.

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