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Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay
Second April


These wet rocks where the tide has been,
  Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
  These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
  Faint and perilous, far from shore,
No place to dream, but a place to die,--
  The bottom of the sea once more.
There was a child that wandered through
  A giant's empty house all day,--
House full of wonderful things and new,
  But no fit place for a child to play.