vacant shores

It had been a dry, bright week, but the fine weather was coming to an end - or so the forecast said - and the cloud bank that had been hovering in the distance for days was about to sweep over the land.

Algy perched among the Marram grass on the foreshore, his beak tucked into a book of poetry, while the sea birds investigated the exposed sand by the tidal islands. The tide was unusually low, and Algy was reminded of a sonnet by Longfellow, which he dedicates to all his friends who are feeling low themselves just now, whether from depression, from exhaustion at the end of a long, dreary winter, or just from the stresses and strains of age. May the ebbed tide sweep in again and bring you “love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song”:

          I saw the long line of the vacant shore,
          The sea-weed and the shells upon the sand,
          And the brown rocks left bare on every hand
          As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
          Then heard I, more distinctly than before,
          The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,
          And hurrying came on the defenceless land
          The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar.
          All thought and feeling and desire, I said,
          Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song,
          Have ebbed from me for ever! Suddenly o'er me
          They swept again from their deep ocean bed,
          And in a tumult of delight, and strong
          As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me!

And Algy has a special word today for his friend qbnscholar: upbore :)

[Algy is quoting the sonnet The Tides by the 19th century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.]