(Suggested by Turner's painting at the Tate Gallery, thus described in the catalogue: Blood-red sunset reflected in a shallow tidal pool on the shore at St. Helena; Napoleon stands, with arms folded, looking at the limpet.)
The dying Day lies bleeding in the west,
Stanching his ebbing anguish in the cool
Blue bosom of the Night . . .
And by the salty island shore a pool,
A shallow tidal pool, his blood reflects,
Mirrors the crimson . . .
Alone and peaceful to her evening meal
The tiny limpet goes, perchance reviewing
In the chaste closets of her virgin mind
The unambitious current of her thoughts,
Her calm desires; and from her fluted shell
She shyly looks about, bearing her eyes
Upon retractile stalks; with sheepish joy
Observes one of her kindred gastropods,
Significantly beckon from afar.
O gentle cochlea! Unwitting thou
That on the rocky promont near at hand
There stands with folded arms, with brow contort,
