by Peter Miles
The boom of the surf again in rising wind….
For a long while now I have been remembering
That stark sweet music in continuous
Crescendo on the lonely beach, deep leit-motif
Of something old, old as wandering
So, aged ghost, you come again with pale
Uncomment, haunting? You remember
When the live sea swelled and you,
Perpetually clouded, strained
Those rhythms into protoplasm even now I feel
In my brief consciousness, drowned memory
Is the vast beginning of things, the empty theatre.
We are not strangers, you and I, old
Murmerer: I hear your thundering
Through cities and the superficial chatter, hear
Plain statements and the high strong manifesto sung
In sea winds.
Peter Miles (1945)