Within this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts' full pleasure - You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.
Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow has paled my young mouth's vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.
But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.
The hardships they had between them was nothing to the woman-it was all like a shell to her, she can just put it down and leave, whereas Wilde is left in ruin. 
 Or perhaps Wilde himself was viewed as nothing but a temporary sweet sound emitting from a “shell” to the woman; when the woman got tired of it/annoyed, she can just move on, whereas Wilde feels abandoned and taken advantage of. 

My Voice