Classic Poem

Only baggage? If we grant it,
Ah, what precious freight was there!
Mother-courage, child-eyed wonder,
Maiden spirit pure and fair,
With the whole world as her suitor—
Atalanta of the Air!

Not a sordid thought went with her,
Just the new pride of the West—
She a letter writ to Europe,
Though it bore not crown or crest,
With nobility envisaged
As the best of all our best.

Take her, England, to your hearthstone!
Harbor, France, her flying feet!
'Tis a woman's soul we send you,
Stronger than a friendly fleet;
And remember, in your welcome,
'Tis America you greet.