The Fisher's Boy

by Henry David Thoreau

　　My life is like a stroll upon the beach, ⁠As near the ocean's edge as I can go; My tardy steps its waves sometimes o'erreach, ⁠Sometimes I stay to let them overflow. My sole employment 'tis, and scrupulous care, ⁠To place my gains beyond the reach of tides, Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare, ⁠Which Ocean kindly to my hand confides. I have but few companions on the shore: ⁠They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea; Yet oft I think the ocean they've sailed o'er ⁠Is deeper known upon the strand to me. The middle sea contains no crimson dulse, ⁠Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view; Along the shore my hand is on its pulse, ⁠And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew.