A scallop shell, loosed by the lifting tide,
Had left a friendly shore, the seas to brave;
Its lips of pink and snowy hollow shone
Pure in the sun, a pearl upon the wave.
It gleamed and passed—you burdened it with love,
With sweet long futures, new and dreamy days:
And named for me—because I held your hopes.
I bid you hush—not meriting your praise.
I pointed, where your vessel came to shore,
Wrecked where the tiny breakers rose and fell;
And bid your voyagers not put to sea
So fail a craft as this poor scallop shell.
WITH A ROSE
In the heart of a rose
Lies the heart of a maid;
If you be not afraid
You will wear it. Who knows?
In the pink of its bloom,
Lay your lips to her cheek;
Since a rose cannot speak,
And you gain the perfume.
If the dews on the leaf
Are the tears from her eyes;
If she withers and dies,
Why, you have the belief,
That a rose cannot speak,
Though the heart of a maid
In its bosom must fade,
And with fading must break.
FOR EVER
He heard it first upon the lips of love,
And loved it for love’s sake;
A faithful word, that knows nor time nor change,
Nor lone heart-break.