Poem by Rose Terry Cooke

Ebb and Flow

'Tis something to have turned the tide
That ebbed and ebbed and slid away,
Till all the sands lay bare and wide,
A dreary level, bleak and gray.
 
The hidden rocks, the treacherous shore,
Show black and steep above the sea;
The maddened breakers rave no more,
Full fast the outward billows flee.
 
Rest for thy moment, turning tide!
Then creep and ripple on the sand.
I fear no more thy waters wide,
I know the dangers of the strand.
 
Now let the white-caps foam and flow,
The soul assured may laugh at fear,
And bear serene the heaviest woe,
So that its utmost depths appear.

1. Trailing Arbutus
2. Gray
3. The Iconoclast
4. Exogenesis
5. Fastrada's Ring

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