Dover Beach 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, immering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. to the > window, sweet is the night-air! ng line of spray 1 meets the moon- -blanch’d land, - grating roar : ‘waves draw back, and fling, i h strand, a The Sea of Faith jearing it by this distant iortherh sea.
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl’d 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 ae To one another! For the world, which seems eee To lie before us like a land of dreams, ae So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath neither joy, nor love, nor light, zs 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.
Matthew Arnold's poem, reprinted alongside John Crompton's article 'Dover Beach' in this issue.