"The World is too Much with Us" by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us

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.

The Birth of Triton William Hilton (1786–1839)

But could hearing Triton blow his wreathèd horn sustain us? And for how long? Soon we might wish the world to return... And anyway, it will.

Clearly, we need to apply some highbrow common sense to this problem. Hmm... Considering our miraculous condition, wouldn't writing a poem about Triton or painting his picture be more exciting--sustaining--than hearing him blow that horn, which anyway is most unlikely?  To paint that painting, to write that poem, we must be in the world, for it is the only place where such things happen.  Q.E.D.