We piled our treasures on the beach
Beyond the tumbling water's reach—
Round sand dollars, flecked with foam,
Minted in dim coral caves
For the pockets of sea-kings;
Driftwood, with its honeycomb
Of barnacles stripped clean by waves
And bleached by sun; coquina wings
Colored like dawn and opened wide,
Bright relics of the motley band
Which found its shelter in the sand
Between the tideline and the tide.
We never really hoped to keep
The flood of sunlight and the sweep
Of amber waters for our own.
We never really hoped to stay
The golden currents of the day.
We only gathered what we could
And watched without too much surprise
When twilight crested on the dunes
And summer drowned before our eyes.