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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408440" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Wamberal</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just a shell, to which the seaweed glittering yet with greenness clings,<br>Like the song that once I loved so, softly of the old time sings -<br>Softly of the old time speaketh - bringing ever back to me<br>Sights of far-off lordly forelands - glimpses of the sounding sea!<br>Now the cliffs are all before me - now, indeed, do I behold<br>Shining growths on wild wet hillheads, quiet pools of green and gold.<br>And, across the gleaming beaches, lo! the mighty flow and fall<br>Of the great ingathering waters thundering under Wamberal!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back there are the pondering mountains; there the dim, dumb ranges loom -<br>Ghostly shapes in dead grey vapour - half-seen peaks august with gloom.<br>There the voice of troubled torrents, hidden in unfathomed deeps,<br>Known to moss and faint green sunlight, wanders down the oozy steeps.<br>There the lake of many runnels nestles in a windless wild<br>Far amongst thick-folded forests, like a radiant human child.<br>And beyond surf-smitten uplands - high above the highest spur -<br>Lo! the clouds like tents of tempest on the crags of Kincumber!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wamberal, the home of echoes! Hard against a streaming strand,<br>Sits the hill of blind black caverns, at the limits of the land.<br>Here the haughty water marches - here the flights of straitened sea<br>Make a noise like that of trumpets, breaking wide across the lea!<br>But behold, in yonder crescent that a ring of island locks<br>Are the gold and emerald cisterns shining moonlike in the rocks!<br>Clear, bright cisterns, zoned by mosses, where the faint wet blossoms dwell<br>With the leaf of many colours - down beside the starry shell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Friend of mine beyond the mountains, here and here the perished days<br>Come like sad reproachful phantoms, in the deep grey evening haze -<br>Come like ghosts, and sit beside me when the noise of day is still,<br>And the rain is on the window, and the wind is on the hill.<br>Then they linger, but they speak not, while my memory roams and roams<br>Over scenes by death made sacred - other lands and other homes!<br>Places sanctified by sorrow - sweetened by the face of yore -<br>Face that you and I may look on (friend and brother) nevermore!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Seasons come with tender solace - time lacks neither light nor rest;<br>But the old thoughts were such ~dear~ ones, and the old days seem the best.<br>And to those who've loved and suffered, every pulse of wind or rain -<br>Every song with sadness in it, brings the peopled Past again.<br>Therefore, just this shell yet dripping, with this weed of green and grey,<br>Sets me thinking - sets me dreaming of the places far away;<br>Dreaming of the golden rockpools - of the foreland and the fall;<br>And the home behind the mountains looming over Wamberal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408440" data-title="Wamberal de Henry Kendall" data-description="Just a shell, to which the seaweed glittering yet with greenness clings,
Like the song that once I loved so, softly of the old time sings -
Softly of the old time speaketh - bringing ever back to me
Sights of far-off lordly forelands - glimpses of..."></div>
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