Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Find also in the sound a thought,
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
The eternal note of sadness in.
Of human misery; we
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
And naked shingles of the world.
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
At their return, up the high strand,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Retreating, to the breath
Only, from the long line of spray
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
The Sea of Faith
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
Ah, love, let us be true
And we are here as on a darkling plain
The sea is calm tonight.
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
But now I only hear
Sophocles long ago
Listen! you hear the grating roar
To one another! for the world, which seems