Dear girl, of all the shells to-morrow’s tide
        Shall from the bounteous ocean cast ashore,
Though each some sweet congratulation bore,
One shell must needs be added, one beside
All others to be cherished!  It will hide
Within its whispering gallery at the core
A jewel for thine ear; sought out the more,
Lest oceanwards ungathered it may slide
For Aphrodite’s keeping.  Happy girl,
Upon whose brow the eighteenth March has set
Grace and sweet bloom, be wise, the god of Love
Works even of friendship sorrow.  Pure the pearl
I offer for your birthday coronet:
Pearl is but pain with rainbow overwove.

(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 119)