The sea is calm to-night. 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, bleached 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 tremulouscadence slow, and bring slightly quivering rhythm The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought a sea near Greece Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow thick flooding and draining 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, sad Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear bleak, lifeless And naked shingles of the world. masses of small, round pebbles
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; certainty And we are here as on a darkling plain increasingly dark Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.