< Page:Studies in Song - Swinburne (1880).djvu
Tombs, with bare white piteous bones protruded,
Rows on rows and line by line they crumble,
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BY THE NORTH SEA.
207
14.
Shroudless, down the loose collapsing banks,
Crumble, from their constant place detruded,
That the sea devours and gives not thanks.
Graves where hope and prayer and sorrow brooded
Gape and slide and perish, ranks on ranks.
15.
They that thought for all time through to be.
Scarce a stone whereon a child might stumble
Breaks the grim field paced alone of me.
Earth, and man, and all their gods wax humble
Here, where Time brings pasture to the sea.
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