EARTH has her blossoms, and the sea his shells
⁠Wrought with as fine a workmanship, and fair
⁠As they had been some god's peculiar care;
And in the heart of each a spirit dwells
Whose voice, in flowers,—for they to earth belong—
⁠Is but a perfume, evanescent, sweet,
⁠While in the sea-born shell, as seemeth meet,
It is an echo faint of an unending song!