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  The sea is calm tonight.
  The tide is full, the moon lies fair
  Upon the straits; on the French coast the refugees
  Set sail and are gone; the cliffs of England stand,
  Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
  Come to the double-glazed window, noisy is the piling!
  Only, from the long line of spray
  Where the sea meets Western Docks infill,
  Listen! you hear the grating roar
  Of traffic which the queue holds back, and fling,
  Out their window, up the A20,
  Faeces, and urine, and then again begin,
  With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
  The eternal note of sadness in.

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