Here, in this little Bay, 
Full of tumultuous life and great repose, 
Where, twice a day, 
The purposeless, gay ocean comes and goes, 
Under high cliffs, and far from the huge town, 
I sit me down. 
For want of me the world's course will not fail: 
When all its work is done, the lie shall rot; 
The truth is great, and shall prevail, 
When none cares whether it prevail or not.