FROM “DOVER BEACH”
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 ebb meets the moon – blanch’d sand,
Listen! You hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves suck back, and flying,
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.
By Matthew Arnold
NOVEMBER
No sun – no moon,
No morn – no noon
No down, no dusk – no proper time of day
No sky – no early view -
No distance looking blue –
No road – no street – no “t’other side the way”
No end to any Row.
No indications where the Crescents go –
No top to any steeple
No recognition of familiar people.
No warmth – no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds. November!
By Thomas Hood
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