|
|
AND then I pressed the shell
|
|
Close to my ear
|
|
And listened well,
|
|
And straightway like a bell
|
|
Came low and clear
|
|
The slow, sad murmur of the distant seas,
|
|
Whipped by an icy breeze
|
|
Upon a shore
|
|
Wind-swept and desolate.
|
|
It was a sunless strand that never bore
|
|
The footprint of a man,
|
|
Nor felt the weight
|
|
Since time began
|
|
Of any human quality or stir
|
|
Save what the dreary winds and waves incur. |
| |
|
|
And in the hush of waters was the sound |
|
Of pebbles rolling round,
|
|
For ever rolling with a hollow sound.
|
|
And bubbling sea-weeds as the waters go
|
|
Swish to and fro
|
|
Their long, cold tentacles of slimy grey.
|
|
There was no day,
|
|
Nor ever came a night
|
|
Setting the stars alight
|
|
To wonder at the moon:
|
|
Was twilight only and the frightened croon,
. |
|
Smitten to whimpers, of the dreary wind
|
|
And waves that journeyed blind—
|
|
And then I loosed my ear ... O, it was sweet
|
|
To hear a cart go jolting down the street |
