Poems (Scudder)/Mussel-pearls
MUSSEL-PEARLS
These frail, exquisite things, these changelings from the deep, My captives—at my will They lie, so pure, so still As trembling on the misty verge of sleep See how the tender dream-light comes and goes Lilac and silver, orange, palest rose So delicate that did the sweet Faint odors that arise From iris or moonflower to our eyes Take cloudy shape and fleet They might resemble these. Yet on them lies A shadow haunting, strange Their likeness to the parent Sea, Mother of Sorrows she, Sister to Death and Change. And scarce my heart can bear the aching stress Of such remote and wistful loveliness. —Nor would I yield them even to the grace Of her whom I adore, My Lady of the Blessed Face, Were it not ancient lore That when the sea-sprites win a mortal's love They gain a soul thereby In guerdon from above. And when at last they lie Those foam-white breasts of hers between Something of her own spirit star-serene Must with a new More holy grace their elfin charm endue.