Ebb-Tide

A sodden reach of wide and wind-swept lea, A sky of shattered steel that palls the sight, And one long shaft of sun that seems to write Vast letters slowly on a slate of sea; The dreary wail of gulls that skim the crest Of sullen breakers sliding in to land, A world grown empty, full of vague unrest, And shadow-shapes that stride across the sand!

The gray beach widens. Foot by foot appear Strange forms of wreckage creeping from the waves, Like ghosts that steal in silence from their graves To watch beside the death-bed of the year; Poor shattered shapes of ships that once stood out Full-freighted to the far horizon’s sweep To music of the cheery sailor-shout Of men who sought the wonders of the deep!

Poor shattered ships! Their gallant cruising o’er, Their cargoes coral-crusted, leagues below, They rise, unnamed, unnumbered, from the slow Recession of the ebb along the shore. The fickle tide, that bore them bravely then, Betrays their shame and nakedness to be Mute witness to the littleness of men Who battle with the sovereignty of sea.

For me, as well, alone upon the dune, There sinks a tide that strips the beaches bare, And leaves but grim, unsightly wreckage where The brooding skies make mockery of noon. Ah, dear, that hopes, like tides, should ebb away, Unmasking on the naked shore of love Flotsam and jetsam of a happier day, Dreams wrecked and all the emptiness thereof!