She came from some still mossiness
by Leon Gellert
Of quiet ways; and stood with modest hands;
A warmth of body in a shy distress;
A white shell on the sands.
A slender shell she seemed;
And he, the sea
That rose and gathered, beat and dreamed
And longed so restlessly.
She saw him not this imminent, nor moved
Nor spoke. The hot sea swept;
And smothering her fears
It loosed and loved
And left her as she wept,
Wet with his clasp, and wet with all her tears.