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Reason, 'tis true, may point the rocky shore,
And shew the danger, but can serve no more,I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;And we look past the shore
And the waves crash with meaning,
—now as then, and beforeFaint and perilous, far from shore,
No place to dream, but a place to die,—
The bottom of the sea once more.I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.From any bourne from any shore
To find the evening in these leaves
To find my arms beside this door...And sick of prey, yet howling on for more,
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore;A Sailor's business is the shore!
A Soldier's—balls! Who asketh more,And means, to you and me, no more
Than any pebble on the shore,When landed, squatted on the shore,
And croak'd as loudly as before.If so it be I've gain'd the shore,
With safety of a faithful oar;And means, to you and me, no more
Than any pebble on the shore,O how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,Ye gods of the shore,
Who abide evermore,Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore;Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
On Pizarro's shore?It bursts on the roof like the thunder’s roar,
Or like the sea on a northern shore,There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.