Memory Of Cape Cod

The wind in the ash-tree sounds like surf on the
   shore at Truro.
I will shut my eyes . . . hush, be still with your
   silly bleating, sheep on Shillingstone Hill . . .

_They said: Come along! They said: Leave your_
_pebbles on the sand and come along, it’s long after_
   _sunset!_
_The mosquitoes will be thick in the pine-woods along_
   _by Long Nook, the wind’s died down!_
_They said: Leave your pebbles on the sand, and your_
   _shells, too, and come along, we’ll find you another_
   _beach like the beach at Truro._

Let me listen to wind in the ash ... it sounds like
   surf on the shore.

        Edna St. Vincent Millay