On the Shore
Not lonely though alone, she played
Between the sea and land;
With shells and meadow-flowers she made
A garden in the sand.
In silvery visions from the sea
The summer clouds were blown;
Sweet voices came from field and tree,
Soft sounds from wave and stone.
She heeded not; she lived apart;
Absorbed in joy she played.
Between two worlds her little heart
A little world had made.
Ah! we too on the shore, dear child,
Are dreamers all, like thee!
By figments of the heart beguiled,
We cannot hear or see.
Soft voices call from sea and land,
But neither world is ours;
Our lives are spent on barren sand
And plots of rootless flowers.
