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The Shell

ND then I pressed the shell Close to my ear And listened well,

And straightway like a bell Came low and clear        The slow, sad murmur of the distant seas,

Whipped by an icy breeze Upon a shore Wind-swept and desolate.

It was a sunless strand that never bore  The footprint of a man,

Nor felt the weight Since time began Of any human quality or stir Save what the dreary winds and waves incur.  And in the hush of waters was the sound Of pebbles rolling round,

For ever rolling with a hollow sound.

And bubbling sea-weeds as the waters go Swish to and

Their long, cold tentacles of slimy grey.

There was no day,

Nor ever came a night Setting the stars alight To wonder at the moon:  Was twilight only and the frightened croon,

Smitten to whimpers, of the dreary wind And waves that journeyed blind— And then I loosed my ear ...

O, it was sweet To hear a cart go jolting down the street.

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James Stephens

James Stephens (9 February 1880[1] – 26 December 1950) was an Irish novelist and poet.

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