BETWEEN the sandhills and the sea <br />A narrow strip of silver sand, <br />Whereon a little maid doth stand, <br />Who picks up shells continually <br />Between the sandhills and the sea. <br /> <br />Far as her wondering eyes can reach <br />A Vastness, heaving grey in grey <br />To the frayed edges where the day <br />Furls his red standard on the breach, <br />Between the skyline and the beach. <br /> <br />The waters of the flowing tide <br />Cast up the seapink shells and weed; <br />She toys with shells, and doth not heed <br />The ocean, which on every side <br />Is closing round her vast and wide. <br /> <br />It creeps her way as if in play, <br />Pink shells at her pink feet to cast; <br />But now the wild waves hold her fast, <br />And bear her off and melt away <br />A Vastness heaving gray in gray.<br /><br />Mathilde Blind<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-parable-4/
