See what a lovely shell, 

 Small and pure as a pearl, 

 Lying close to my foot, 

 Frail, but a work divine. 

 Made so fairly well 

 With delicate spire and whorl. 

 How exquisitely minute, 

 A miracle of design I 



What is it? — a learned man 

 Could give it a clumsy name. 

 Let him name it who can, 

 The beauty would be the same. 



Tennyson. 



Oh what an endless work have I in hand, 

 To count the sea's abundant progeny ! 



Spencer. 



