A still salt pool, locked in with bars of sand, Left on the shore; that hears all night The plunging seas draw backward from the land Their moon-led waters white.
The Works of Tennyson, The Palace of Art
A still salt pool, locked in with bars of sand, Left on the shore; that hears all night The plunging seas draw backward from the land Their moon-led waters white.
The Works of Tennyson, The Palace of Art