Dover
Beach
by Matthew
Arnold
|
| 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, |
| 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 Ægæan, 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, not 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.
|
|
Matthew Arnold | Classic
Poems |
