Winter Tide

THEHE is a tide that makes upon this shore
Continual thunder as the waters leap
Rising and crying from the ocean floor,
Roaring and rising from the desolate deep.
This is no summer current, half asleep;

This is the night in which the world began,
This is the dark beyond the outer steep,
This is the icy enemy of man.
Stand here awhile beyond the flow and foam,
And do not tremble. Ocean is not free.

The fisherman who makes the sea his home
Knows that the tide must turn again to sea;
And where these waters tumble wide and bare,
Children will play and women sun their hair.