Low tide is the tide of sadness,
Yet I shall go down to the lowering sea,
And hold my two arms out in gladness,
Coaxing the sea to notice me.

Though fog may marry wave and boulder,
I will not hurry from the sands,
Though winds be whips upon my shoulder
They shall not flatten down my hands

Until I accuse the sea of sadness:
The time of sorrow, O sea, is when
You should profess untempered gladness.
Shall you never learn from the ways of men?