Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Low Tide

The sea came wooing in mad male fashion;
   The strand like a maiden was shy as fair.
He fell at her feet with a cry of passion,
   And flung out his arms to clasp her there.

He swore to be true; the bright stars glistened,
   And the wind went dallying off with the ships,
While the strand like a maiden leaned and listened
   And the sea's wild kisses fell on her lips.

But desolate now in the moonlight's glory
   Is lying the pale, deserted strand,
While the sea is telling the same old story
   To another shore, in another land.