the white cliffs of dover

Yesterday we took a two hour bus ride out to Dover (home of the famous Dover Beach, White Cliffs, and Dover Castle).  It was gorgeous, but I wasn't feeling great and it was freezing outside so I don't know if I enjoyed it as much as I would have on another day.  At least I know what they're talking about when they say the weather in England is cold.  Afterward we made it over to Canterbury, home of the Canterbury Cathedral.  Although I didn't think it was as beautiful as St. Paul's, it was still really interesting.  We got to attend an Evensong, which is a worship service they hold every day.  They had a choir made up of men and young boys and it was amazing.  I was shocked at how high those little boys can sing, and everything was angelic.  

P.S. If Dover sounds familiar, this might be why: 

Dover Beach

Matthew Arnold

The sea is calm to-night.

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 Agaean, 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.