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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ODE TO THE RAIN by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE SPRING OF THE YEAR by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM FOUR QUARTETS: BURNT NORTON by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT A DIRGE FOR MCPHERSON; KILLED IN FRONT OF ATLANTA by HERMAN MELVILLE ODES I, 38. AD MINISTRAM by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS |