Why does the sea moan evermore?
        Shut out from heaven it makes its moan.
It frets against the boundary shore;
        All earth's full rivers cannot fill
         The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.

Sheer miracles of loveliness
        Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed:
Anemones, salt, passionless,
        Blow flower-like; just enough alive
        To blow and multiply and thrive.

Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike,
         Encrusted live things argus-eyed,
All fair alike, yet all unlike,
         Are born without a pang, and die
         Without a pang,--and so pass by.