Fletcher turns the tide into a kind of music, repeating the line “The tide makes music” like a refrain. The speaker listens to waves rumbling, ship rigging thrumming, and sails slapping, then hears deeper organ notes against the dull clang of bells. The sea feels both calm and immense, its colors shifting from purple to blue and gold as it catches cloudlight. There is quiet awe here—not fear, but a sense of being held by a slow, steady rhythm. By the end, the ocean becomes an “old serpent,” coiling and uncoiling with a mythic, almost hypnotic motion. The mood is meditative and slightly mysterious, as if the speaker is half-dreaming at the shoreline, caught between sound, color, and movement.
The Tide — Summary
The tide makes music At the foot of the beach; The waves sing together Rumble of breakers. Ships there are swaying, Into the distance, Thrum of the cordage, Slap of the sails.
The tide makes music At the foot of the beach; Low notes of an organ 'Gainst the dull clang of bells. The tide's tense purple On the untrodden sand: Its throat is blue, Its hands are gold.
The tide makes music: The tide all day Catches light from the clouds That float over the sky.
Ocean, old serpent, Coils up and uncoils; With sinuous motion, With rustle of scales.