I leave my cot and walk the beach, barefoot, br My feet laved ling-ringly by the latest wave, br Broken along the sloping shore, as it returns. br My print is there, I know, upon the silken sand; br I felt the pressure of my being make its mark br Upon the yielding surface of the smooth wet mat, br And stepping back a pace, can see the dent I made. br br But still I must not estimate above its due, br The influence that I have had upon this strand, br For though I build with busy hands a castle here br It may well be tomorrow's walkers on this shore br Will find no trace of it, for like the tide, br Responding to the hand that made the waters stir, br I come in -- I go out.