Two men walked upon the strand Gathering treasures of the brine; One, a tiller of the land; One, who served at Beauty’s shrine.
Shoe-deep o’er the furrowed lea Spread the boor his reeking weed; And there waved another sea, Many a hungry mouth to feed.
Fair, upon a spotless sheet, Spread the bard his lovely prize, In a beauty so complete, Souls fed on it through their eyes.
Farmers of the soul and sod, Both attend on Use and Beauty,— And are dear alike to God, Filling each his round of duty.
Part of Sea-Moss
