"And the sea lends large, as the marsh: lo, out of his plenty the sea

Pours fast: full soon the time of the flood-tide must be: Look how the grace of the sea doth go

About and about through the intricate channels that flow Here and there,

Everywhere,

Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the

low-lying lanes,

And the marsh is meshed with a million veins,
That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow
In the rose-and-silver evening glow
Farewell, my lord Sun!

The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets run

'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-grass stir;

Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr; Passeth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run; And the sea and the marsh are one.

"How still the plains of waters be! The tide is in his ecstasy.

The tide is at his highest height:

And it is night.”

Sidney Lanier was a true lover of the marshes, and saw and appreciated their every detail. And again:

66 The tide's at full: the marsh with flooded streams Glimmers, a limpid labyrinth of dreams.

Each winding creek in grave entrancement lies
A rhapsody of morning-stars."

The ebbing tide is as wonderful as the flood: and the sunrise is as wonderful as the sunset.

"But the air and my heart and the earth are a-thrill, And look where the wild duck sails round the bend of the river,

And look where a passionate shiver
Expectant is bending the blades

Of the marsh-grass in serial shimmers and shades, -
And invisible wings, fast fleeting, fast fleeting,

With your lapfuls of stars and of dreams),

And a sailor unseen is hoisting a-peak,
For list, down the inshore curve of the creek
How merrily flutters the sail,-

And lo, in the East! Will the East unveil?
The East is unveiled, the East hath confessed
A flush: 'tis dead; 'tis alive: 'tis dead, ere the West
Was aware of it: nay, 'tis abiding, 'tis unwithdrawn:
Have a care, sweet Heaven! "Tis Dawn."

To float down in a canoe with the ebb tide, to explore the narrow channels now sunk deep