The Fisher's Boy

The Fisher's Boy
by Henry David Thoreau

from A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

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.

This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.