We leap to the infinite dark like the sparks from the anvil.
Thou leadest, O God! All’s well with Thy troopers that follow.
ODE FOR A MASTER MARINER ASHORE
By Louise Imogen Guiney
There in his room, whene’er the moon looks in,
And silvers now a shell, and now a fin,
And o’er his chart glides like an argosy,
Quiet and old sits he.
Danger! he hath grown homesick for thy smile.
Where hidest thou the while, heart’s boast,