How slow before the sleeping breeze,
That stranger ship from under seas!
How like to Dido by her sea,
When reaching arms imploringly,--
Her large, round, rich, impassioned arms,
Tossed forth from all her storied charms,--
This one lone maiden leaning stood
Above that sea, beside the wood!
The ship crept strangely up the seas;
Her shrouds seemed shreds, her masts seemed trees,--
Strange tattered trees of toughest bough
That knew no cease of storm till now.
The maiden pitied her; she prayed
Her crew might come, nor feel afraid;
She prayed the winds might come,--they came,
As birds that answer to a name.
The maiden held her blowing hair
That bound her beauteous self about;
The sea-winds housed within her hair:
She let it go, it blew in rout
About her bosom full and bare.
Her round, full arms were free as air,
Her high hands clasped, as clasped in prayer.