Over the sands the swollen tide came creeping,

Over the sands beneath the gleaming moon;

At first it seemed a child's uncertain croon,

And then a sound of many mourners weeping.

Then all at once a crested wave was sweeping

Around the still form in the moonlight there,

Twining its silver fingers in her hair....

And yet it could not rouse her from her sleeping.

With dawn the tide went seaward, bearing her

In its strong arms that clung so tenderly,

And laid her in a strange place far away

Where the tall seaweeds rise and never stir....

And there she sleeps, while pass alternately

The brooding night and the green luminous day.