A Midsummer Holiday:- VI. The Cliffside Path

Seaward goes the sun, and homeward by the down     We, before the night upon his grave be sealed.     Low behind us lies the bright steep murmuring town,     High before us heaves the steep rough silent field.     Breach by ghastlier breach, the cliffs collapsing yield:     Half the path is broken, half the banks divide;     Flawed and crumbled, riven and rent, they cleave and slide     Toward the ridged and wrinkled waste of girdling sand     Deep beneath, whose furrows tell how far and wide     Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.     Star by star on the unsunned waters twiring down.     Golden spear-points glance against a silver shield.     Over banks and bents, across the headlands crown,     As by pulse of gradual plumes through twilight wheeled,     Soft as sleep, the waking wind awakes the weald.     Moor and copse and fallow, near or far descried.     Feel the mild wings move, and gladden where they glide:     Silence, uttering love that all things understand,     Bids the quiet fields forget that hard beside     Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.     Yet may sight, ere all the hoar soft shade grow brown,     Hardly reckon half the lifts and rents unhealed     Where the scarred cliffs downward sundering drive and drown,     Hewn as if with stroke of swords in tempest steeled,     Wielded as the nights will and the winds may wield.     Crowned and zoned in vain with flowers of autumn-tide,     Soon the blasts shall break them, soon the waters hide,     Soon, where late we stood, shall no man ever stand.     Life and love seek harbourage on the landward side:     Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.     Friend, though man be less than these, for all his pride,     Yet, for all his weakness, shall not hope abide?     Wind and change can wreck but life and waste but land:     Truth and trust are sure, though here till all subside     Wind is lord and change is sovereign of the strand.