The eternal note

Here it is 10 p.m. and our house in the wood is quiet with only the sound of Brownian motion in my ear as I for reasons unknown find comfort in talking to this blog sending a ripple of minimum intensity out into the aether of the 'cloud' and looking to see what country, what individual might be seeking in the mystery of it all - and quite often when music is quiet and sensory input is at an ebb I think that poetry, poetry that rhymes in certain compelling ways, somehow conveys a momentary insight from the unknown into our repository of reflections, into our questing soul, a glimmer onto the gossamer gestaltness of our mind, a mental 'shadow nymph' that just eludes our searching eye ....... and like perhaps a late night disk jockey sending out the melody of sound that serves his sharing of life's unanswerables  I think that I should share the rest of Dover Beach so here-with the first stanza:

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.