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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
I love the simplicity and accessibility of Patmore's poems. Although he can sometimes be a little over-sentimental and is very much a product of his age, Angel in the House being a supreme example of both unfortunate traits, at other times he has perfect expression.