A desert of weed and water-darkened stone under my western windows

The ebb lasted all afternoon,

And many pieces of humanity, men, women, and children, gathering shellfish,

Swarmed with voices of gulls the sea-breach.

At twilight they went off together, the verge was left vacant, an evening heron

Bent broad wings over the black ebb,

And left me wondering why a lone bird was dearer to me than many people.

Well: rare is dear: but also I suppose

Well reconciled with the world but not with our own natures we grudge to see them

Reflected on the world for a mirror.

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