The sea runs back against itself <br />With scarcely time for breaking wave <br />To cannonade a slatey shelf <br />And thunder under in a cave. <br /> <br />Before the next can fully burst <br />The headwind, blowing harder still, <br />Smooths it to what it was at first - <br />A slowly rolling water-hill. <br /> <br />Against the breeze the breakers haste, <br />Against the tide their ridges run <br />And all the sea's a dappled waste <br />Criss-crossing underneath the sun. <br /> <br />Far down the beach the ripples drag <br />Blown backward, rearing from the shore, <br />And wailing gull and shrieking shag <br />Alone can pierce the ocean roar. <br /> <br />Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue, <br />Unheard are shouts of little boys; <br />What chance has any inland lung <br />Against this multi-water noise? <br /> <br />Here where the cliffs alone prevail <br />I stand exultant, neutral, free, <br />And from the cushion of the gale <br />Behold a huge consoling sea.<br /><br />John Betjeman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-seascape/
