Oliver Wendell Holmes
This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails
the unshadowed main, –
The
venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And
coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their
streaming hair.
Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked
is the ship of pearl!
And
every chambered cell,
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
Before
thee lies revealed, –
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt
unsealed!
Year after year beheld the silent toil
That
spread his lustrous coil;
Still,
as the spiral grew,
He left the past year’s dwelling for the new,
Stole with soft step its shining archway
through,
Built
up its idle door,
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the
old no more.
Thanks for the heavenly message brought by
thee,
Child
of the wandering sea,
Cast
from her lap, forlorn!
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!
While
on mine ear it rings,
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a
voice that sings: –
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As
the swift seasons roll!
Leave
thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till
thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s
unresting sea!
Fonte (quinta estrofe):
Gould, S. J. 1989 [1980]. O polegar do
panda. SP, Martins Fontes. Poema publicado em livro em 1858.