The tide slips up the silver sand,
  Dark night and rosy day;
It brings sea-treasures to the land,
  Then bears them all away.
On mighty shores from east to west
It wails, and gropes, and cannot rest.

O Tide, that still doth ebb and flow...

Sweet, sweet, sweet,
  Is the wind’s song,
Astir in the rippled wheat
  All day long.
It hath the brook’s wild gayety,
The sorrowful cry of the sea.
  Oh hush and hear!
  Sweet, sweet and clear,
  Above the locust’s whirr
  ...