 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
“FREE LOVE” AGAIN.
Oh most unnatural, that Woman's handShould lift itself against the majesty
Of Love! 'Tis to put out the very eye
Of Being. Let Love's rose, with all its bland
Life-sweetening perfume, from her fair brow banned,
Be réplaced with a blister! 'Tis to die
By her own hand, and blast with obloquy
The name of “Woman,” and a bye-word stand.
O Love, not the weak, wanton Cupid thou,
But that diviner form to whom his dart
And torch are playthings, and himself I trow,
Venus Urania! who dost touch the heart
With quenchless altar-fire, touch Woman's now,
And save, for thou her guardian angel art!
| Stones from The Quarry | |