On Manly Beach
IT has taken all time for that wave to swell,
Low-ridged, from the ocean over the bay.
While cEons withered and nations fell,
Precursors fixed for this moment's sway,
Till swift, like a frosted sword, should reach
Waters running with foam and spray,
Loud and white to the peopled beach,
In the sheen of the westering day.
Down, far down in the gulfs of Time,
Crumbling centuries, heap on heap,
Rot forgotten ere world and clime
Split the chaos of timeless sleep.
Numberless ages, in limitless space,
Bore this day that that wave might ...