See, what a lovely shell ! Small and pure as a pearl; Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairily wellWith delicate spire and whorl; How exquisitely minute-A miracle of design!
The tiny shell is forlorn, Void of the little living willThat made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house in a rainbow frill?
Did he push, when he was uncurled, A golden foot or a fairy horn Through his dim water-world?
Slight, to be crushed with a tap Of my finger-nail on the sand; Small, but a work divine;Frail, but of force to withstand,
Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snapThe three-decker"s oaken spine Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand !
Lord Tennyson
Author.-Lo r d Te n n y s o n (1809-92) was born in England, and completed his education at Cambridge. He practised verse-making from his early years, and spent his life at it. He was appointed Poet Laureate in 1850. His poems to a considerable extent embody the philosophic and religious thought of his time.
General.-Is the poem, like the shell itself, "made so fairily well "?
It comes from Tennyson"s "Maud. " A young Englishman has slain (or thinks he has slain) his sweetheart"s brother in a duel, and has fled across the Channel to Brittany. In great trouble of mind, he paces the shore and picking up a shell, moralizes. Who designed it? Why? Now it is forlorn- " the very word is like a knell "-the "living will " is gone. Yet the frail tenement can stand against storms that wreck proud ships Learn this poem by heart for its delicate beauty of phrase.
