WHEN THE TIDE GOES OUT
Full white moon upon a waste of ocean,
High full tide upon the sandy shore,
In the fisher’s cot without a motion,
Waiteth he that never shall sail more.
Waiteth he, and one sad comrade sighing,
Speaking lowly, says, “Without a doubt
He will rest soon. Some One calls the dying,
When the tide goes out.”
Some One calls the tide, when in its flowing,