  SOMEONE had told her that a sea-nymph dwelt Within a murmuring shell, she called her own, And she did love to hold it to her ear, And always she could catch the meaning of Its song. When she was gay the nymph she thought Sang joyously, when she was sad at heart The murmuring voice seemed full of plaint and tears. One day, when longings softly stirred her breast, She took the shell down to the shore and sat Listening to all the things it had to tell, Till, by-and-by, so homesick grew the voice That called back to the waves when they did call, A pity for its loneliness did make Her suddenly resolve to set it free, So with a stone she brake the shell in twain, ’Twas empty as the air. Who was it told Her such a fair untruth—a pretty lie? A mist fell down upon the wooded hills, Her soft eyes caught it in their depth and held It prisoner, till presently it grew Too strong and subtle for the wide white lids Which made but timid trembling sentinels, And let it slip to liberty unchallenged. The light unfeeling waves about her feet Laughed at her grieving over such a thing— Laughed, calling to her as they rushed and ran, “O pretty little one! That one bright day Didst think thyself so wise—didst count thyself So rich? O foolish, foolish child, to weep And break thy little heart o’er something that Is not—has never been, save, in thy thought!” [Decorative image unavailable.] |
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