Poems (Welby)/The Sea-Shell

by Amelia Welby

TO A SEA-SHELL.

  Shell of the bright sea-waves!
What is it, that we hear in thy sad moan?
Is this unceasing music all thine own?
  Lute of the ocean-caves!

  Or does some spirit dwell
In the deep windings of thy chambers dim,
Breathing for ever, in its mournful hymn,
  Of ocean's anthem swell?

  Wert thou a murmurer long
In crystal palaces beneath the seas,
Ere from the blue sky thou hadst heard the breeze
  Pour its full tide of song?

  Another thing with thee—
Are there not gorgeous cities in the deep,
Buried with flashing gems that brightly sleep,
  Hid by the mighty sea?

  And say, O lone sea-shell!
Are there not costly things and sweet perfumes
Scattered in waste o'er that sea-gulf of tombs?
  Hush thy low moan and tell.

  But yet, and more than all—
Has not each foaming wave in fury tost
O'er earth's most beautiful, the brave, the lost,
  Like a dark funeral pall?

  'T is vain—thou answerest not?
Thou hast no voice to whisper of the dead;
'T is ours alone, with sighs like odors shed,
  To hold them unforgot!

  Thine is as sad a strain,
As if the spirit in thy hidden cell
Pined to be with the many things, that dwell
  In the wild restless main.

  And yet there is no sound
Upon the waters, whispered by the waves,
But seemeth like a wail from many graves,
  Thrilling the air around.

  The earth, O moaning shell!
The earth hath melodies more sweet than these—
The music gush of rills, the hum of bees
  Heard in each blossom's bell.

  Are not these tones of earth,
The rustling forest, with its shivering leaves,
Sweeter than sounds that e'en in moonlit eves
  Upon the seas have birth?

  Alas! thou still wilt moan—
Thou 'rt like the heart that wastes itself in sighs
E'en when amid bewildering melodies,
  If parted from its own.