One day we strolled together to the sea. Gray evening and the night had almost met, We walked between them, silent, to the shore. The feet of weird faced waves ran up the beach Like children in mad play, then back again As if the spirit of the land pursued; Then up again -- and farther -- and they flung White, foamy arms around each other's neck; Then back again with sudden rush and shout, As if the sea, their mother, called them home; Then leaned upon her breast, as if so tired, But swiftly tore themselves away and rushed Away, and farther up the beach, and fell For utter weariness; and loudly sobbed For strength to rise and flow back to the deep. But all in vain, for other waves swept on And trampled them; the sea cried out in grief, The gray beach laughed and clasped them to the sands. It was the flood-tide and the even-tide -- Between the evening and the night we walked -- We walked between the billows and the beach, We walked between the future and the past, Down to the sea we twain had strolled -- to part. The shore was low, with just the faintest rise Of many-colored sands and shreds of shells, Until about a stone's far throw they met A fringe of faded grass, with here and there A pale-green shrub; and farther into land -- Another stone's throw farther -- there were trees -- Tall, dark, wild trees, with intertwining arms, Each almost touching each, as if they feared To stand alone and look upon the sea. The night was in the trees -- the evening on the shore. We walked between the evening and the night -- Between the trees and tide we silent strolled. There lies between man's silence and his speech A shadowy valley, where thro' those who pass Are never silent, tho' they may not speak; And yet they more than breathe. It is the vale Of wordless sighs, half uttered and half-heard. It is the vale of the unutterable. We walked between our silence and our speech, And sighed between the sunset and the stars, One hour beside the sea. There was a cloud Far o'er the reach of waters, hanging low 'Tween sea and sky -- the banner of the storm, Its edges faintly bright, as if the rays That fled far down the West had rested there And slumbered, and had left a dream of light. Its inner folds were dark -- its central, more. It did not flutter; there it hung, as calm As banner in a temple o'er a shrine. Its shadow only fell upon the sea, Above the shore the heavens bended blue. We walked between the cloudless and the cloud, That hour, beside the sea. But, quick as thought, There gleamed a sword of wild, terrific light -- Its hilt in heaven, its point hissed in the sea, Its scabbard in the darkness -- and it tore The bannered cloud into a thousand shreds, Then quivered far away, and bent and broke In flashing fragments;