Sarah Helen Whitman (1803-1878), the Helen for whom Poe wrote "To Helen"

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore,

That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore

to his own native shore.

 

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have broght me home

To glory that was Greece,

And the grandeur that was Rome.

 

Lo! in yon brilliant window niche

How statuelike I see thee stand,

The agate lamp within thy hand!

Ah, Psyche, from the regions which

Are Holy Land!