Henry Abbey

(11 July 1842 - 7 June 1911 / Kingston, NY)

Low Tide


Along the cliff I walk in silence,
While over the blue of the waves below,
The white birds gleam in the sun like silver
And ships in the offing come and go,
And the tide is low.

Oh! it was here that in golden weather,
Under the cliff and close to the sea,
A pledge was given that made me master
Of all that ever was dear to me;
And the tide was low.

Only a little year fled after;
Wedded we came to our tryst once more,
And saw the deep, like a bird imprisoned
Beating its wings at its bars, the shore;
And the tide was low.

Now I walk alone by the filmy breakers-
A voice is hushed I can never forget;
On my saddened sea dead calm has fallen,
My ships are harbored, my sun is set;
And the tide is low.

Submitted: Thursday, April 26, 2012

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