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Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

Ebb Tide


When the long day goes by
And I do not see your face,
The old wild, restless sorrow
Steals from its hiding place.

My day is barren and broken,
Bereft of light and song,
A sea beach bleak and windy
That moans the whole day long.

To the empty beach at ebb tide,
Bare with its rocks and scars,
Come back like the sea with singing,
And light of a million stars.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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