The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Friending and attending, we lay waste our powers:
Few of these friends are actually ours;
We have commodified friendship, a sordid boon!
The Cybernaut that turns her back on the moon;
The silence that is howling at all hours,
Our virtual marches on indifferent powers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
We seldom move --Great God! I'd rather be
A Luddite suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, sitting on this distressed settee,
Have glimpses that were less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea,
If only on my giant flat screen TV.
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