Strange to be here (a bookstore at midnight!)
Waiting in line with the end in clear sight!
Every which one sorted just after arrival
allowing plenty of time to size up our rivals.
Hagrids towering over, fake grizzled beards…
dozens of Hermiones, a force to be feared!
All came early to witness the fall,
predicting what happens during the final install.
Could Harry survive or would Voldy-thing thrive?
Hermione, Ron, will they reach the end?
Severus Snape: enemy or friend?
Dumbledore’s troops stand ready to fight
if the Dark Lord’s spies attack in the night.
*The title refers to a poem by Matthew Arnold called Dover Beach. Matthew Arnold (24 December 1822 – 15 April 1888) was a British Victorian poet who also wrote social and religious commentary that was advanced for his time. It is such a beautiful poem I thought I would share it below for anyone who was interested.
The sea is calm tonight,
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Agean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Found at: http://www.eecs.harvard.edu/~keith/poems/dover.html on Aug 6, 2011.