Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Amy WentworthJohn Greenleaf Whittier (18071892)
H
They dance so light along;
The bloom upon her parted lips
Is sweeter than the song.
Her thoughts are not of thee:
She better loves the salted wind,
The voices of the sea.
That at its anchor swings;
The murmur of the stranded shell
Is in the song she sings.
But dreams the while of one
Who watches from his sea-blown deck
The icebergs in the sun.
And every fog-wreath dim,
And bids the sea-birds flying north
Bear messages to him.
He perilled life to save,
And grateful prayers like holy oil
To smooth for him the wave.
Fair toast of all the town!—
The skipper’s jerkin ill beseems
The lady’s silken gown!
For him the blush of shame
Who dares to set his manly gifts
Against her ancient name.
And blood is not like wine;
Nor honored less than he who heirs
Is he who founds a line.
If love be Fortune’s spur;
And never maiden stoops to him
Who lifts himself to her.
With stately stairways worn
By feet of old Colonial knights
And ladies gentle-born.
The English ivy twines,
Trained back to show in English oak
The herald’s carven signs.
Ancestral faces frown,—
And this has worn the soldier’s sword,
And that the judge’s gown.
She walks the gallery-floor
As if she trod her sailor’s deck
By stormy Labrador!
And green are Elliot’s bowers;
Her garden is the pebbled beach,
The mosses are her flowers.
To see the white gulls fly;
His greeting from the Northern sea
Is in their clanging cry.
As in its romance old,
Shall homeward ride with silken sails
And masts of beaten gold!
And high and low mate ill;
But love has never known a law
Beyond its own sweet will!