Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. You can also use the up (↑) and down (↓) arrows to move a line one place at a time, or the top (⇑) and bottom (⇓) arrows to move a line directly to the top or bottom. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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At their return, up the high strand,
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
Retreating, to the breath
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
Ah, love, let us be true
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The sea is calm tonight.
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Sophocles long ago
And naked shingles of the world.
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Only, from the long line of spray
But now I only hear
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
The Sea of Faith
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
To one another! for the world, which seems
The eternal note of sadness in.
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The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.