The Beach Of Shells
There is a beach upon a western shore
Which those who know it call the Beach of Shells,
For there the secret tides conspire to pour
Yearly a haryest raised in the deep-sea swells,
The empty houses of bright water-things,
In heaps of whorls and cones and fluted bells.
These hither a certain drift of current brings,
And on a bayed shelf in the rock bestows
Year after year their softly shining rings
Of lavender and pearl, umber and rose,
Of iridescent sheen, dim-shaded dun,
Of red that smoulders and of red that glows,
To lie there glistening ...