By the Sea

Emily Dickinson (1830–1886)

Poems: Second Series

I STARTED early, took my dog,And visited the sea;The mermaids in the basementCame out to look at me,And frigates in the upper floorExtended hempen hands,Presuming me to be a mouseAground, upon the sands.But no man moved me till the tideWent past my simple shoe,And past my apron and my belt,And past my bodice too,And made as he would eat me upAs wholly as a dewUpon a dandelion's sleeve—And then I started too.And he—he followed close behind;I felt his silver heelUpon my ankle,—then my shoesWould overflow with pearl.Until we met the solid town,No man he seemed to know;And bowing with a mighty lookAt me, the sea withdrew.