The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
And on its outer point, some miles away,
The Lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.Even at this distance I can see the tides,Upheaving, break unheard along its base,A speechless wrath, that rises and subsidesIn the white lip and tremor of the face.And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,Through the deep purple of the twilight air,Beams forth the sudden radiance of its lightWith strange, unearthly splendour in the glare!Not one alone; from each projecting capeAnd perilous reef along the ocean's verge,Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge. ©
Monday, 8 August 2022
Кромерские tutti quanti: ч. 8 (The Lighthouse; En)
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