Dorothy is laid to rest at a Cameroon refuge for chimpanzees.
The world is too much with us; enough bipeds for the day. For solace, see the creatures of the earth grieve, fish, demand fairness and equal pay, and, through the magic of the Internet, endure public shaming for our amusement.
|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,||5|
|The winds that will be howling at all hours|
|And are up-gather'd 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 wreathèd horn.|