The hollow sea-shell, which for years hath stood On dusty shelves, when held against the ear Proclaims its stormy parent, and we hear The faint, far murmur of the breaking flood. We hear the sea.1 The Sea? It is the blood In our own veins, impetuous and near.
Sonnet. Sea-shell Murmurs.
Note 1. See Dante Gabriel Rossetti, page 769, and Charles Henry Webb. page 793. [back]