Low-Tide
Thesewet 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 highFaint 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 throughA giant’s empty house all day,—House full of wonderful things and new,But no fit place for a child to play.
Thesewet 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 highFaint 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 throughA giant’s empty house all day,—House full of wonderful things and new,But no fit place for a child to play.
Thesewet 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 highFaint 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 throughA giant’s empty house all day,—House full of wonderful things and new,But no fit place for a child to play.