Poems (Millay)/Low-Tide
Low-Tide
These wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brownAnd slimed beneath to a beautiful green, These wet rocks where the tide went downWill show again when the tide is high Faint and perilous, far from shore,No place to dream, but a place to die,— The bottom of the sea once more.There was a child that wandered through A giant's empty house all day,—House full of wonderful things and new, But no fit place for a child to play.