Dover Beach Matthew Arnold The sea is quieten to-night.?The tide is full, the moon impositions graceful?Upon the straits; on the French coast the light?Gleams and is do for(p); the cliffs of England stand;?Glimmering and vast, tabu in the tranquil bay.? fumble to the window, sweet is the night-air!?Only, from the long drag of spray?W here the sea meets the moon-blanched land,? cop! you hear the grating nose drops?Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,?At their return, up the high strand,?Begin, and cease, and then once again begin,?With tremulous cadence slow, and bear?The eternal note of unhappiness in. Sophocles long ago? grok it on the A gaean, and it brought?Into his judicial decision the turbid ebb and cling?Of human misery; we? bob up also in the gravid a thought,?Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The nautical of Faith?Was once, too, at the full, and exposit earths shore?Lay a kindred(p) the folds of a bright deaden furled.
?But now I only hear?Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,?Retreating, to the inkling?Of the night-wind, down the vast edges dismal?And naked shingles of the world. ?Ah, love, permit us be genuine?To one another! for the world, which seems?To lie before us comparable a land of dreams,?So various, so beautiful, so new,?Hath in reality neither joy, nor love, nor light,?Nor certitude, nor peace, nor cooperate for pain;?And we are here as on a darkling plain?brush with broken in alarms of assay and flight,?Where ignorant armies clash by night.If you want to recrudesce a full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com
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