[From _The Hesperian Tree_, edited by J. J. Piatt (Columbus, Ohio,
1903)]
O snow-white blade, thou openest for me
So many a page filled with delightful lore
Where deathless minds have left the precious store
Of words that breathe and truth that makes us free.
To hold thee in my hand, or but to see
Thee lying on my desk, O ivory oar,
Waiting to drive my bark to any shore,
Is fortaste of fresh joy and liberty.
Thou bringest dreams of the Dark Continent
Where herded elephants in freedom roam,
Or blow their trumpets when they danger scent,
Or in wide rivers shoot the pearly foam,
Yet art of vital books all redolent,
Where highest thoughts have made themselves a home.