"It seems in truth the fairest shell of ocean."—Shelley.
What is it makes thy sound unto my ear
So mournful, Angel of the mighty Sea?
Is it the soul of her who once was here,
Speaking affection, through thy lips, to me?
Oh! from my childhood this has been to me
A mystery which no one could solve!—It sounds
And sorrows for the Sea incessantly—
Telling the grief with which my soul abounds!
Here, in its labyrinthine curve, it leaves
The foot-prints of its song in many dyes;
And here, incessantly, it ever weaves
The rainbow-tissue of its melodies.
When any harsher sound disturbs me here,
In my lamentings in this world for the,
I will apply it to my listening ear,
And think it is thy soul come down to me.