I lie and dream in the soft warm sand; and the thunder and surge and the
baffled roar
Of the sea’s relentless and vain endeavors are a pleasant lullaby, here
on shore.
Since a little hillock screens yonder ageless, tenacious battlings
(which shatter, and pass
In foam and spume), I appraise, half-nodding, much sand and sky and
gaunt nodding grass.
And I am content to lie and dream; and I am too drowsy to rise, and see
If it be worth breasting—that ocean yonder, which a little hillock hides
from me.