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 These wet rocks where the tide has been,
Barnacled white and weeded brown
And slimed beneath to a beautiful green,
These wet rocks where the tide went down
Will show again when the tide is high
Faint and perilous, far from shore,
No place to dream, but a place to die,—
The bottom of the sea once more.
There was a child that wandered through A giant's empty house all day,— House full of wonderful things and new, But no fit place for a child to play.

Poem by Edna St Vincent Millay
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