Playa de Dover
El mar está en calma esta noche
La marea está llena, la luna yace hermosa
Sobre los estrechos, en la costa francesa la luz
Brilla y se va, se alzan los acantilados de Inglaterra
Resplandeciente y vasta, en la tranquila bahía.
Ven a la ventana, dulce es el aire de la noche!
Solo de la larga línea de spray
Donde el mar se encuentra con la tierra blanqueada por la luna
Escuchar! Escuchas el rugido chirriante
De guijarros que las olas arrastran y arrojan
A su regreso, arriba de la playa alta
Empezar y cesar, y luego empezar de nuevo
Con cadencia trémula lento y traer
La eterna nota de tristeza en él.
Sófocles hace mucho tiempo
Lo escuché en el Egeo y trajo
En su mente el flujo y reflujo turbio
De la miseria humana, nosotros
Encuentra también en el sonido un pensamiento
Oyéndolo por este lejano mar del norte.
Dover Beach
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
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