Read THE LIGHT-KEEPER: CHAPTER I of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson Vol 22, free online book, by Andrew Lang., on

  The brilliant kernel of the night,
    The flaming lightroom circles me: 
  I sit within a blaze of light
    Held high above the dusky sea. 
  Far off the surf doth break and roar
  Along bleak miles of moonlit shore,
    Where through the tides the tumbling wave
  Falls in an avalanche of foam
  And drives its churnèd waters home
    Up many an undercliff and cave.

  The clear bell chimes:  the clockworks strain: 
    The turning lenses flash and pass,
  Frame turning within glittering frame
    With frosty gleam of moving glass: 
  Unseen by me, each dusky hour
  The sea-waves welter up the tower
    Or in the ebb subside again;
  And ever and anon all night,
  Drawn from afar by charm of light,
    A sea-bird beats against the pane.

  And lastly when dawn ends the night
    And belts the semi-orb of sea,
  The tall, pale pharos in the light
    Looks white and spectral as may be. 
  The early ebb is out:  the green
  Straight belt of sea-weed now is seen,
    That round the basement of the tower
  Marks out the interspace of tide;
  And watching men are heavy-eyed,
    And sleepless lips are dry and sour.

  The night is over like a dream: 
    The sea-birds cry and dip themselves;
  And in the early sunlight, steam
    The newly-bared and dripping shelves,
  Around whose verge the glassy wave
  With lisping wash is heard to lave;
    While, on the white tower lifted high,
  With yellow light in faded glass
  The circling lenses flash and pass,
    And sickly shine against the sky.