ON what long tides br Do you drift to my fire, br You waifs of strange waters? br From what far seas, br What murmurous sands, br What desolate beaches-- br Flotsam of those glories that were ships! br br I gather you, br Bitter with salt, br Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried, br Fuel for my fire. br br You are Pride's end. br Through all to-morrows you are yesterday. br You are waste, br You are ruin, br For where is that which once you were? br br I gather you.