- On ear and ear two noises too old to end
- Trench—right, the tide that ramps against the shore;
- With a flood or a fall, low lull-off or all roar,
- Frequenting there while moon shall wear and wend.
- Left hand, off land, I hear the lark ascend,
- His rash-fresh re-winded new-skeinèd score
- In crisps of curl off wild winch whirl, and pour
- And pelt music, till none’s to spill nor spend.
- How these two shame this shallow and frail town!
- How ring right out our sordid turbid time,
- Being pure! We, life’s pride and cared-for crown,
- Have lost that cheer and charm of earth’s past prime:
- Our make and making break, are breaking, down
- To man’s last dust, drain fast towards man’s first slime.
