Down The Vast Edges Drear

and so not to draw out the poem into pieces of time too far to remain entrained within its' thrall we enter the middle ground where faith somehow, always how, even when we deny it how, enters stage left to let us know that even in dying it is in our thoughts, even in denial it rhymes in counter-point, even when retreating we know it's there

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.