Edwin John Dove Pratt (Эдвин Джон Дав Пратт)

The Flood Tide

He paused a moment by the sea,
    Then stooped, and with a leisured hand
He wrote in casual tracery
    Her name upon the flux of sand.

The waves beat up and swiftly spun
    A silver web at every stride;
He watched their long, thin fingers run
    The letters back into the tide.

But she had written where the tide
    Could never its grey waters fling;
She watched the longest wave subside
    Ere it could touch the lettering.

1. Ode to December, 1917
2. The Toll of the Bells
3. Dawn!
4. In Absentia
5. Loss of the Steamship Florizel

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