Classic Poem

Winding creeks in marshes wide,
Rising, falling, night or noon,
Do ye know what makes the tide?
She that's far off in the moon!

All her tow lines grapple ye,
Like the spider's strands drawn tight,
All cast off in harmony,
Lift and loose ye by her light.

So, she sucks the world perforce,
Though assundered and above,
As a mother in divorce
Draws her offspring by her love.

Though by day her fiery spouse
Searches lest their cribs she win,
In the night she finds their house
And by moonlight steals within.