Sea-Shell Murmurs

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. The sea? It is the blood

In our own veins, impetuous and near,

And pulses keeping pace with hope and fear

And with our feelings' every shifting mood.

Lo, in my heart I hear, as in a shell,

The murmur of a world beyond the grave,

Distinct, distinct, though faint and far it be.

Thou fool; this echo is a cheat as well,—

The hum of earthly instincts; and we crave

A world unreal as the shell-heard sea.