Felixstowe, or The Last of Her Order (John Betjeman Poem)
With one consuming roar along the shingle The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles down To where its backwash ...
With one consuming roar along the shingle The long wave claws and rakes the pebbles down To where its backwash ...
The heavy mahogany door with its wrought-iron screen Shuts. And the sound is rich, sympathetic, discreet. The sun still shines ...
The clock is frozen in the tower, The thickening fog with sooty smell Has blanketed the motor power Which turns ...
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