Lines

As playful boys by ocean's side Upon its margin trace, Some frail memorial which the tide Returning must efface; Thus I upon this brittle glass These tuneless verses scrawl, That they, when I away shall pass, May thought of me recall.

The waves that beat upon the strand Wash out the schoolboy's line, As soon some rude or careless hand May shiver those of mine. But though what I have written here In thousand fragments part, I trust my name will still be dear, And treasured in the heart.