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