I am a shell. From me you shall not hear <br />The splendid tramplings of insistent drums, <br />The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes, <br />Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear. <br />Yet, if you hold me close against the ear, <br />A dim, far whisper rises clamorously, <br />The thunderous beat and passion of the sea, <br />The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere. <br /> <br />Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings, <br />Making even Love in music audible, <br />And earth one glory. I am but a shell <br />That moves, not of itself, and moving sings; <br />Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed, <br />A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.<br /><br />Stephen Vincent Benet<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-minor-poet/
