340. A CHARADE
In my first, as in a shell,
All the sweetest sounds may dwell;
In my second, shells abound
That can catch no sort of sound;
In my whole securely rest
Those who neither jeer nor jest.
In my first, as in a shell,
All the sweetest sounds may dwell;
In my second, shells abound
That can catch no sort of sound;
In my whole securely rest
Those who neither jeer nor jest.