Edna St. Vincent Millay — Low-Tide

These wet rocks where the tide has been,          Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,          These wet rocks where the tide went down Will 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.