Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WAITING SEA, by AMOS RUSSEL WELLS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WAITING SEA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The children built a barrier of sand
Last Line: "do you not see the breastwork we have made?"
Subject(s): Seashore; Beach; Coast; Shore


The children built a barrier of sand
Along the shore, a breastwork very high
And very strong, that hid the darkening sea.
And safely there they played upon the beach
A medley of bright fancies, one a king,
And one an actress trailing seaweed robes,
And others merchants bargaining for stones
Worn smooth and shining, others men of war
With tinny drums and driftwood cannon bold;
Till sudden round their breastwork stole the tide,
And over it the spray beat suddenly,
And all the children in a merry rush
Retreated shrieking to the upper land,
And watched their mighty barrier crumble down.

So we, Time's bearded children, weirdly bent
And strangely wrinkled to our bitter souls,
Yet children irresponsible and crude, --
How in the face of waters tossed and wild,
Of angry billows reaching to the void,
We build our brittle barrier of sand,
Of high philosophy and cool disdain;
And there behind it witlessly secure
We play our little parody of life,
Our governing, our trading, our parade
Of fashion and of armies; till the sea,
The waiting sea, the crawling, quivering sea,
Reaches the crafty network of its tide
Through hidden runnels, creeps along the sand
And lays its watery meshes silently,
And cuts us foolish prancers from the shore.
Then curve its surges hissingly and swift
As sweeping scythes, and all are overwhelmed,
Kings, warriors, and traders, and fair dames,
Tumbled, a shrieking, cursing, praying mass,
Into the welter blackness of the sea.

Voices there are that call us from the shore,
The upper shore. Imploringly they call:
But we, behind our barrier of sand,
Beating our drums and clinking at our trades,
And swishing silk, and shouting out our wares,
Hear only our own babble; or, if heard,
The voices are flung back in mockery:
"Do you not see the breastwork we have built?"

O bearded children playing on the beach,
If you would know the sea, as know you must,
There is a pier, and there a waiting ship,
The waiting ship to meet the waiting sea!
The voices call you from the upper land,
"Leave your weak barrier, your witless play;
The tide is turning, and the vessel waits."

"The tide? What tide?" we answer scornfully.
"Do you not see the breastwork we have made?"





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