VI
So where the wide and shallow beaches bound
The ceaseless moiling of the North Sea hoar,
And on the sands the rounding billows pour
Their majesty of waters to the ground;
As one by one the rising breakers pound
The beaten salt sands of the yeasty shore,
Their bursting charges’ momentary roar
Dies in a background of prevailing sound—
Thus hour by hour the moaning did prevail
Over night’s stillness, rose, and swelled, and died
In the sad level of a murmuring wail,
Like ocean’s moan with voices multiplied
Along the reaches of the sounding graile,
The west wind wrestling with the flowing tide.
Rastatt, 5th May