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Consider the
sea's listless chime;
Time's self it is, made audible
-
The murmur of the earth's own shell.
Secret
continuance sublime
Is the sea's end: our sight may
pass
No furlong further. Since time was,
This
sound hath told the lapse of time.
No quiet,
which is death's -it hath
The mournfulness of ancient
life,
Enduring always at dull strife.
As the
world's heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is
in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands
Grey and not known, along its path.
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