Back to the green deeps of the outer bay <br /> The red and amber currents glide and cringe, <br /> Diminishing behind a luminous fringe <br /> Of cream-white surf and wandering wraiths of spray. <br /> Stealthily, in the old reluctant way, <br /> The red flats are uncovered, mile on mile, <br /> To glitter in the sun a golden while. <br /> Far down the flats, a phantom sharply grey, <br /> The herring weir emerges, quick with spoil. <br /> Slowly the tide forsakes it. Then draws near, <br /> Descending from the farm-house on the height, <br /> A cart, with gaping tubs. The oxen toil <br /> Sombrely o'er the level to the weir, <br /> And drag a long black trail across the light.<br /><br />Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-herring-weir/
