Vi

So where the wide and shallow beaches bound The ceaseless moiling of the North Sea hoar, And on the sands the rounding billows pour Their majesty of waters to the ground; As one by one the rising breakers pound The beaten salt sands of the yeasty shore, Their bursting charges’ momentary roar Dies in a background of prevailing sound-- Thus hour by hour the moaning did prevail Over night’s stillness, rose, and swelled, and died In the sad level of a murmuring wail, Like ocean’s moan with voices multiplied Along the reaches of the sounding graile, The west wind wrestling with the flowing tide.

RASTATT, 5th May