By the Sea
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.
