The Shell

From “Gebir,” Book I. I AM not daunted, no; I will engage. But first, said she, what wager will you lay? A sheep, I answered, add whate’er you will. I cannot, she replied, make that return: Our hided vessels in their pitchy round Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep. But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the Sun’s palace-porch, where when unyoked His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave: Shake one and it awakens, then apply Its polisht lips to your attentive ear And it remembers its august abodes, And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.