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.