(with apologies to Matthew Arnold)
The air is cool tonight,
The tide is low, the ice lies fair
In the sea, displacing its mass
And the fjords stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, Greta, sweet is the night air!
The Sea of Faith
Was once at the full and bore your
Yacht, in uttermost luxury, to New York
Before the merry flights home.
But now I only hear
A melancholy, long-withdrawing roar,
Beating, echoing with the fading bleats
Of a Swedish Doom-Goblin
And here we are as at a cocktail circuit,
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant geese honk by day and night.
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