Blind

Mother, sit down, for I have much to say
Anent this widespread ever-growing theme
Of woman and her virtues and her rights.

I left you for the large, loud world of men,
When I had lived one little score of years.
I judged all women by you, and my heart
Was filled with high esteem and reverence
For your angelic sex; and for the wives,
The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends
I held but holy thoughts.    To fallen stars
(Of whom you told me in our last sweet talk,
Warning me of the dangers in my path)
I gave wide pity as you bade me to,
Saying their sins harked back to my base sex.

Now listen, mother mine:    Ten years have passed
Since that clean-minded and pure-bodied youth,
Thinking to write his name upon the stars,
Went from your presenc...

Sit still, I say, and dispense with heroics!
    I hurt your wrists?    Well, you have hurt me.
It is time you found out that all men are not stoics,
    Nor toys to be used as your mood may be.
I will not let go of your hands, nor leave you
    Until I have spoken.    No man, you say,
Dared ever so treat you before?    I believe you,
    For you have dealt only with boys till to-day.

You women lay stress on your fine perception,
    Your intuitions are prated about;
You claim an occult sort of conception
    Of matters which men must reason out.
So then, of course, when you ask me kindly
    "To call again soon," you read my heart.
I cannot believe you were acting blindly;
    You saw my passion for you from the start.

You are one of...

The sands upon the ocean side
That change about with every tide,
And never true to one abide,
    A woman's love I liken to.

The summer zephyrs, light and vain,
That sing the same alluring strain
To every grass blade on the plain -
    A woman's love is nothing more.

The sunshine of an April day
That comes to warm you with its ray,
But while you smile has flown away -
    A woman's love is like to this.

God made poor woman with no heart,
But gave her skill, and tact, and art,
And so she lives, and plays her part.
    We must not blame, but pity her.

She leans to man - but just to hear
The praise he whispers in her ear;
Herself, not him, she holdeth dear -
    O fool! to be deceived by her.

To sate her selfish t...

God finished woman in the twilight hour
And said, 'To-morrow thou shalt find thy place:
Man's complement, the mother of the race -
    With love the motive power -
    The one compelling power.'

All night she dreamed and wondered.    With the light
Her lover came - and then she understood
The purpose of her being.    Life was good
    And all the world seemed right -
    And nothing was, but right.

She had no wish for any wider sway:
By all the questions of the world unvexed,
Supremely loving and superbly sexed,
    She passed upon her way -
    Her feminine fair way.

But God neglected, when He fashioned man,
To fuse the molten splendour of his mind
With that sixth sense He gave to womankind.
    And so He marred His plan -
   ...

All that a man can say of woman's charms,
    Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told
To you a thousand times.    Your perfect arms
    (A replica from that lost Melos mould),
The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown
With full intent to make their splendours known),

Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile),
    The (artful) artlessness of all your ways,
Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile -
    All these have had my fond and frequent praise.
And something more than praise to you I gave -
Something which made you know me as your slave.

Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel.
    Here in this morning hour, from you apart,
The mood is on me to be frank and tell
    The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart.
These...

I know two women, and one is chaste
And cold as the snows on a winter waste,
Stainless ever in act and thought
(As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not).
But she has malice toward her kind,
A cruel tongue and a jealous mind.
Void of pity and full of greed,
She judges the world by her narrow creed;
A brewer of quarrels, a breeder of hate,
Yet she holds the key to "Society's" Gate.

The other woman, with heart of flame,
Went mad for a love that marred her name:
And out of the grave of her murdered faith
She rose like a soul that has passed through death.
Her aims are noble, her pity so broad,
It covers the world like the mercy of God.
A soother of discord, a healer of woes,
Peace follows her footsteps wherever she goes.
The worthier life of the tw...