The Grave Is Wide Lyrics

Only from the long line of spray
where the sea meets the moon-bleached land,
Listen, you'll hear the grating roar.

Upon the straits on the French coast,
the light gleams and is gone,
the cliffs of glimmering and vast.

From the tranquil bay, dark is the coming storm.

The pebbles which the waves draw back
between tufts of grey sea mosses.
Nor in the high road ply, my trade of guilts and glosses.

At their return up the high strand,
begin, and cease, and then again begin.

Only from the long line of spray you hear the grating roar,
where the sea meets the moon-blanched land.
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
where ignorant armies clash by night.

Between tufts of grey sea mosses.
Nor in the abandoned high road ply, my trade of guilts and glosses.

Glosses into - into this mind the turbid ebb and flow.
We find in the sound - we find in the sound a thought.
Nor in the abandoned high road ply, my trade of guilts and glosses.

Between tufts of grey in the high road ply,
beware where you step, the grave is wide.