On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood <br />Uplift their shadowing heads, and, at their feet, <br />Scarce hear the surge that has for ages beat, <br />Sure many a lonely wanderer has stood; <br />And whilst the lifted murmur met his ear, <br />And o'er the distant billows the still eve <br />Sailed slow, has thought of all his heart must leave <br />Tomorrow; of the friends he loved most dear; <br />Of social scenes, from which he wept to part; <br />But if, like me, he knew how fruitless all <br />The thoughts that would full fain the past recall, <br />Soon would he quell the risings of his heart, <br />And brave the wild winds and unhearing tide, <br />The world his country, and his God his guide.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-at-dover-cliffs-july-20th-1787/
