the world is too much with us

Actually, in Wordsworth's day, maybe the world was with him, skating alongside, maybe,and crowding him.  Now, here, well, not here but soon, I hope, the world will be with me, not  too much.  Right now it's way ahead of me and I'm running like mad trying to catch up. 

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.

-- And then he gets all classical on us, with references to mythology and Greek stuff ("old ?Triton"), but I like one line: "For this, for everything, we are out of tune". Yup, out of tune all right. Remember Ophelia's lament about Hamlet's noble mind, "like sweet bells jangled and out of tune.".  Trouble is, I don't have a noble mind to start with, just a pedestrian psyche struggling to get along, or to catch up. Have I given my heart away?  It depends on how you look at it:

1)  What part of my heart have I given away?  

2) How much heart do I have left to give away? 

And 3) What kind of a sordid boon is a give-away heart?  

Boon is supposed to be a gift, a blessing, I get that, and sordid isn't nice. Like, we were maybe forced into giving it away?  I guess. Well, whatever.  My powers are wasted, that's for sure, and it's my fault, my choice.  Remember that parable about the man who put his ladder against the wall of a very large house and started climbing?  He climbed and he climbed (getting and spending, laying waste his powers?)  and when he was almost at the top, he paused and looked around and realized that he had set his ladder against the wrong house.  Ay, there's the rub.  

I look back now, from the dizzy height of my advanced age, and wonder if I have set my ladder against the wrong house. Too late.  I haven't quite made my bed yet so I'm not quite ready to lie in it, but it's too late to move it now, or any other furniture. 

Oops, I have to go and swim.