1. The Beach
By: Brianna Argir

2. Beach Sand By Raymond A. Foss
Maybe it is the memories the change of pace that brings us there the sense of vacation maybe the smell of the place the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses but oh it is the feel of it, the crunch and slide of it the feeling of beach sand so different from dirt, soil, loam no, not earthy, moist, rich, but oh so granular and gritty even when wet, moveable paper spreading under toes sliding beneath the soles smoothing my skin clearing my mind unburdening me of the rest drawing me to the tactile, the feel of beach sand

3. Somewhere By Linda Harnett
Oh, to be lying, On a beach, Somewhere, With sand in my toes, And the wind, In my hair.
And only the sound, Of the seagulls, On high, On a beach, Somewhere, Under sunny blue sky.

4. Surfing in the U.S.A By the Beach Boys
If everybody had an ocean Across the U.S.A. Then everybody's be surfin' Like Californ-i-a You'd seem 'em wearing their baggies Huarachi sandals too A bushy bushy blonde hairdo Surfin' U.S.A. You'd catch 'em surfin' at Del Mar Ventura County line Santa Cruz and Trestles Australia's Narrabeen All over Manhattan And down Doheny way Everybody's gone surfin' Surfin' U.S.A. We'll all be planning out a route We're gonna take real soon We're waxing down our surfboards We can't wait for June We'll all be gone for the summer We're on surf-ari to stay Tell the teacher we're surfin' Surfin' U.S.A. Haggerty's and Swami's Pacific Palisades San Onofre and Sunset Redondo Beach L.A. All over La Jolla At Waimea Bay Everybody's gone surfin' Surfin' U.S.A.

5. The Wind Has Such a Rainy Sound Christina Rossetti
The wind has such a rainy sound    Moaning through the town, The sea has such a windy sound,—    Will the ships go down?
The apples in the orchard    Tumble from their tree,— Oh will the ships go down, go down,    In the windy sea?

6. Dover Beach By Matthew Arnold, Born in London
The sea is calm to-night. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits; on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand; Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night-air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night.