Here a wreck lies on the shore

Amongst the wrack.

Its timbers old, still some intact,

Heave In the waves for nevermore.

 

And soon sand swallows; the hull

To dunes decays.

Tides wane and grasses gather full

Now, as winter flies with the days.

 

Many tides hence under oaks

Her ribs may show.

Her mound in knotted roots may choke

No more than on old waves o’er bow.

 

How valiant soul does rest

And lies on shore.

What mighty blows had struck her breast

Before her decks did rise no more?

 

Did such storm catch her sails aback?
And are we not more fragile?

Behold works of our hands

Fall before wind

And the tumult of tempestuous lands.

 

Drowned too we may be when from sea

We retire.

Doth oft-seen sky remain now free?

When down-slip we sail to our sire?