The sea runs back against
With scarcely time for breaking
To cannonade a slatey
And thunder under in a cave.
Before the next can fully
The headwind, blowing harder still,
Smooths it to what it was at first -A slowly rolling water-hill.
Against the breeze the breakers haste,
Against the tide their ridges
And all the sea's a dappled
Criss-crossing underneath the sun.
Far down the beach the ripples
Blown backward, rearing from the shore,
And wailing gull and shrieking
Alone can pierce the ocean roar.
Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue,
Unheard are shouts of little boys;
What chance has any inland
Against this multi-water noise?
Here where the cliffs alone prevailI stand exultant, neutral, free,
And from the cushion of the
Behold a huge consoling sea.
