Celia Laighton Thaxter

  • The Sandpiper

    Across the narrow beach we flit,
      One little sandpiper and I;
    And fast I gather, bit by bit,
      The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.
    The wild waves reach their hands for it,
      The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
    As up and down the beach...

  • May Morning

    Warm, wild, rainy wind, blowing fitfully,
    Stirring dreamy breakers on the slumberous May sea,
    What shall fail to answer thee? What thing shall withstand
    The spell of thine enchantment, flowing over sea and land?

    All along the swamp-edge in the rain I go;...