Dry, now the cockl'd trump. He, only, lies along Lonely, of the sea-bank's shoaly sump. Solus the cockl'd trump, As neither cabinet of scamel Nor house of brinish sea-bell, Cloistered, this cockl'd trump. Still in dream, his alluvial dreams, Of memory her pearly stream Her straying streams; bewets the copped coral. And her yesty spittle, the suspiring foam Reverbs, from his nacreous auricle. SAUCE00Elegy on a Conch Crowkeeper MiSTiGRiS 19951022›P