ON these white cliffs, that calm above the flood <br />Rear their o'er-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 />Sail'd slow, has thought of all his heart must leave <br />To-morrow -- of the friends he lov'd 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/x-on-dover-cliffs/
