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.