On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood <br />Uprear their shadowing heads, and at their feet <br />Hear not the surge that has for ages beat, <br />How 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 />To-morrow; of the friends he loved most dear; <br />Of social scenes, from which he wept to part! <br />Oh! 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/dover-cliffs/
