Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/85

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THE TIDES.
79
But ever heaves and means the restless Deep; His rising tides I hear,Afar I see the glimmering billows leap; I see them breaking near.
Each wave springs upward, climbing toward the fair Pure light that sits on high—Springs eagerly, and faintly sinks, to where The mother waters lie.
Upward again it swells; the moonbeans show, Again, its glimmering crest;Again it feels the fatal weight below, And sinks, but not to rest.
Again and yet again; until the Deep Recalls tis brood of waves;And, with a sullen moan, abashed, they creep Back to his inner caves.
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