Is there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;
Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs
Chills his cold bed upon the mountain turf,
With hoarse, half-utter'd lamentation, lies
Murmuring responses to the dashing surf?
In moody sadness, on the giddy brink,
I see him more with envy than with fear;
He has no nice felicities that shrink
From giant horrors; wildly wandering here,
He seems (uncursed with reason) not to know
The depth or the duration of his woe.
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Comments1Just skimmed through Sonnet LXX: On Being Cautioned Against Walking on an Headland Overlooking the Se for my homework and oh boy, what a thrilling poem! 🌊 Really makes you feel like you're on the edge of a cliff, just observing the wild waves down below. I could almost sense the cold and loneliness of it all. Definitely appreciate the scenery, but not sure I'd wanna be that wretch on the edge! 😅