THESE wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green, These wet rocks where the tide went down Will show again when the tide is high Faint and perilous, far from shore, No place to dream, but a place to die, -- The bottom of the sea once more. There was a child that wandered through A giant's empty house all day, -- House full of wonderful things and new, But no fit place for a child to play. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES by FRANCOIS VILLON TO FLUSH, MY DOG by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SECRET LOVE; SONG by JOHN CLARE PHILOMELA by JOHN CROWE RANSOM WILD GEESE by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS WORLD-MILLER by FRANCES BARBER |