Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm to-night.?The tide is full, the moon lies decorous?Upon the straits; on the French coast the light?Gleams and is done for(p); the cliffs of England stand;?Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.?ejaculate to the window, sweet is the night-air!?Only, from the long line of spray?Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,? comprehend! 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 transmit?The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago? comprehend it on the A gaean, and it brought?Into his mind the turbid ebb and cling?Of human misery; we?Find also in the gravid a thought,?Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The ocean of Faith?Was once, too, at the full, and round earths shore?Lay a kindred(p) 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 meritless?And naked shingles of the world.
?Ah, love, let us be unfeigned?To one another! for the world, which seems?To lie before us like a land of dreams,?So various, so beautiful, so new,?Hath in reality 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 broken in alarms of struggle and flight,?Where ignorant armies clash by night.If you want to recrudesce a full essay, order it on our website: Orderessay
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