Classic Poem

The snail and I cling to the rock,
We two alone by the glassy sea
That under the sun draws silently
Its breath, then breaks with spumy shock;
We two; for even the briny pool
Has not one shambling crab that moves;
But in its granite glossy grooves
The pent tide-water warms its face
And still weeds hang their idle lace
On looms of mosses green and cool.

The snail and I cling to the rock;
The tide is slipping inward slow.
Here to our clefts it soon will flow,
At his shell-house alone to knock.
The tide that daily comes with food
For his dumb small unconscious need
That grows no greater: while I bleed
With wants no feeding brings content—
For dual, dreaming man seems meant
On what the world has not to brood.

The snail and I cling to the rock,
Strange comrades whom the sea has cast
Together till such hours have passed
As bring the white stars, flock on flock.
But wherefore did the long day give
Him place by me? lest some grey gull
Should on him gorge a fain crop full?
Infinity alone knows why:
For he was born to live and die,
As I, perchance, to die and live.