By The Sea. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 I started early, took my dog,
    And visited the sea;
    The mermaids in the basement
    Came out to look at me,

    And frigates in the upper floor
    Extended hempen hands,
    Presuming me to be a mouse
    Aground, upon the sands.

    But no man moved me till the tide
    Went past my simple shoe,
    And past my apron and my belt,
    And past my bodice too,

    And made as he would eat me up
    As wholly as a dew
    Upon a dandelion’s sleeve —
    And then I started too.

    And he — he followed close behind;
    I felt his silver heel
    Upon my ankle, — then my shoes
    Would overflow with pearl.

    Until we met the solid town,
    No man he seemed to know;
    And bowing with a mighty look
    At me, the sea withdrew.