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Poetry of Amy Lowell
Sword Blades and Poppy Seed

Irony

An arid daylight shines along the beach
 Dried to a grey monotony of tone,
 And stranded jelly-fish melt soft upon
The sun-baked pebbles, far beyond their reach
Sparkles a wet, reviving sea.  Here bleach
 The skeletons of fishes, every bone
 Polished and stark, like traceries of stone,
The joints and knuckles hardened each to each.
 And they are dead while waiting for the sea,
 The moon-pursuing sea, to come again.
Their hearts are blown away on the hot breeze.
 Only the shells and stones can wait to be
 Washed bright.  For living things, who suffer pain,
May not endure till time can bring them ease.