I thought I should not walk these dunes again, Nor feel the sting of this wind-bitten sand, Where the coarse grasses always blow one way, Bent, as my thoughts are, by an unseen hand. I have returned; where the last wave rushed up The wet sand is a mirror for the sky A bright blue instant, and along its sheen The nimble sandpipers run twinkling by. Nothing has changed; with the same hollow thunder The waves die in their everlasting snow -- Only the place we sat is drifted over, Lost in the blowing sand, long, long ago. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY MOTHER LEFT ME by KAREN SWENSON A VOICE FROM THE SWEAT-SHOPS (A HYMN WITH RESPONSES) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER ON PARTING by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE CROWING OF THE RED COCK by EMMA LAZARUS THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |