Is there a solitary wretch who hies <br /> To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow, <br />And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes <br /> Its distance from the waves that chide below; <br />Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs <br /> Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf, <br />With hoarse, half-utter'd lamentation, lies <br /> Murmuring responses to the dashing surf? <br />In moody sadness, on the giddy brink, <br /> I see him more with envy than with fear; <br />He has no nice felicities that shrink <br /> From giant horrors; wildly wandering here, <br />He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know <br />The depth or the duration of his woe.<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxx-on-being-cautioned-against-walking-on-2/
