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James Russell Lowell - With A Seashell
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Shell, whose lips, than mine more cold,
Might with Dian`s ear make bold,
Seek my Lady`s; if thou win
To that portal, shut from sin,
Where commissioned angels` swords
Startle back unholy words,
Thou a miracle shalt see
Wrought by it and wrought in thee;
Thou, the dumb one, shalt recover
Speech of poet, speech of lover.
If she deign to lift you there,
Murmur what I may not dare;
In that archway, pearly-pink
As the Dawn`s untrodden brink,
Murmur, `Excellent and good,
Beauty`s best in every mood,
Never common, never tame,
Changeful fair as windwaved flame`--
Nay, I maunder; this she hears
Every day with mocking ears,
With a brow not sudden-stained
With the flush of bliss restrained,
With no tremor of the pulse
More than feels the dreaming dulse
In the midmost ocean`s caves,
When a tempest heaps the waves.
Thou must woo her in a phrase
Mystic as the opal`s blaze,
Which pure maids alone can see
When their lovers constant be.
I with thee a secret share,
Half a hope, and half a prayer,
Though no reach of mortal skill
Ever told it all, or will;
Say, `He bids me--nothing more--
Tell you what you guessed before!`
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