Thomas R. Lounsbury, ed. (1838–1915). Yale Book of American Verse. 1912.
Oliver Wendell Holmes 18091894
Oliver Wendell Holmes99 The Parting Word
I
Months shall waste before we meet;
Winds are fair, and sails are spread,
Anchors leave their ocean bed;
Ere this shining day grow dark,
Skies shall gird my shoreless bark;
Through thy tears, O lady mine,
Read thy lover’s parting line.
Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet; When the morning star shall rise, Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes; When the second sun goes down, Thou more tranquil shalt be grown, Taught too well that wild despair Dims thine eyes, and spoils thy hair. Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek; In the first month’s second half Thou shalt once attempt to laugh; Then in Pickwick thou shalt dip, Slightly puckering round the lip, Till at last, in sorrow’s spite, Samuel makes thee laugh outright. Round thy chamber bolted fast, Many a youth shall fume and pout, “Hang the girl, she ’s always out!” While the second week goes round, Vainly shall they ring and pound; When the third week shall begin, “Martha, let the creature in.” Round thee flock with smile and song, But thy lips, unweaned as yet, Lisp, “O, how can I forget!” Men and devils both contrive Traps for catching girls alive; Eve was duped, and Helen kissed,— How, O how can you resist? Trust it not to youth or man; Love has filled a pirate’s sail Often with its perfumed gale. Mind your kerchief most of all, Fingers touch when kerchiefs fall; Shorter ell than mercers clip Is the space from hand to lip. Full of pistols, daggers, ropes; All the hemp that Russia bears Scarce would answer lovers’ prayers; Never thread was spun so fine, Never spider stretched the line, Would not hold the lovers true That would really swing for you. Beating breasts in black despair; Others murmur with a sigh, You must melt, or they will die; Painted words on empty lies, Grubs with wings like butterflies; Let them die, and welcome, too; Pray what better could they do? From thy heart love’s burning trace, Keep, O keep that hallowed seat From the tread of vulgar feet; If the blue lips of the sea Wait with icy kiss for me, Let not thine forget the vow, Sealed how often, Love, as now.