THE TIDE ROCK

How sleeps yon rock, whose half-day's bath is done.

With broad blight side beneath the broad bright sun,

Like sea-nymph tired, on cushioned mosses sleeping.

Yet, nearer drawn, beneath her purple tresses

From drooping brows we find her slowly weeping.

So many a wife for cruel man's caresses

Must inly pine and pine, yet outward bear

A gallant front to this world's gaudy glare.