The Sunlight laughs along the serried stone <br />About whose feet the wastrel tide runs free; <br />Light lie the shipmasts, fairy-like to see, <br />Athwart the royal city’s splendour thrown; <br />On runs the noble river, wide and lone, <br />Like some great soul that presses to the sea <br />Where life is rendered to eternity <br />And eager thought hath rest in the Unknown. <br /> <br />So sets thy tide, my country, to the deep <br />Whose face is black with thunder near and far, <br />And vexed with fleering gusts and tyrannous rain. <br />Shall the cloud lift and give thee rest and sleep, <br />Or wilt thou ’mid the surge and crash of war <br />Shatter thy life against the invading main?<br /><br />Archibald Thomas Strong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-of-the-empire-dawn-at-liverpool/
