What sacramental hurt that brings The terror of the truth of things Had changed thee? Secret be it yet. 'T was thine, upon a headland set, To view no isles of man's delight, With lyric foam in rainbow flight, But all a-swing, a-gleam, mid slow uproar, Black sea, and curved uncouth sea-bitten shore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TRAFALGAR SQUARE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ON A VIRTUOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN THAT DIED SUDDENLY by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT HYMN TO ADVERSITY by THOMAS GRAY THE DESCRIPTION OF COOKHAM by AEMILIA (BASSANO) LANYER THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD |