EBB TIDE AT NOON by FRANK GELETT BURGESS

THE breezes sleep; their morning journey done.
The seaweeds mat the sluggish channel's edges.
The sand-flat twinkles in the summer sun,
And fishes flap and spatter in the sedges.

Far off across the dunes there comes the sound
Of lazy surges droning on the shingle.
My boat drifts idly, swinging half-aground;—
Then bickering gulls their raucous voices mingle.

For all has changed; and to the harbor bar
Has come a secret message from the ocean,
A thousand hurrying ripples speed from far,
And all the waters waken into motion.

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