Swiftly out from the friendly lilt of the band, <br /> The crowd's good laughter, the loved eyes of men, <br /> I am drawn nightward; I must turn again <br />Where, down beyond the low untrodden strand, <br />There curves and glimmers outward to the unknown <br /> The old unquiet ocean. All the shade <br />Is rife with magic and movement. I stray alone <br /> Here on the edge of silence, half afraid, <br /> <br />Waiting a sign. In the deep heart of me <br />The sullen waters swell towards the moon, <br />And all my tides set seaward. <br /> From inland <br />Leaps a gay fragment of some mocking tune, <br />That tinkles and laughs and fades along the sand, <br />And dies between the seawall and the sea.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seaside-2/
