Poem by Edwin John Dove Pratt

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. The Drowning
2. The Ground-Swell
3. Ode to December, 1917
4. Dawn!
5. The Morning Plunge

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