Each shell incrusted in the grot
Where we two loved each other well
An aspect of its own has got.
The purple of a purple shell
Is our souls' colour when they make
Our burning heart's blood visible.
This pallid shell affects to take
Thy languors, when thy love-tired eyes
Rebuke me for my mockery's sake.
This counterfeits the harmonies
Of thy pink ear, and this might be
Thy plump short nape with rosy dyes.
But one, among these, troubled me.