Why does the sea moan evermore?

Shut out from heaven it makes its moan. It frets against the boundary shore; All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.

Sheer miracles of loveliness Lie hid in its unlooked-on bed: Anemones, salt, passionless, Blow flower-like; just enough alive To blow and multiply and thrive.

Shells quaint with curve, or spot, or spike, Encrusted live things argus-eyed, All fair alike, yet all unlike, Are born without a pang, and die Without a pang,--and so pass by.