C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

The Sea, I

YOU stooped and picked a red-lipped shell,

Beside the shining sea:

“This little shell, when I am gone,

Will whisper still of me.”

I kissed your hands, upon the sands,

For you were kind to me.

I hold the shell against my ear,

And hear its hollow roar:

It speaks to me about the sea,

But speaks of you no more.

I pace the sands, and wring my hands,

For you are kind no more.