 | Elegies and memorials |  |
46
THE STORY OF WOMAN.
A peerless, piteous thing,
Through every age and clime
Tracked by her radiant wing,
Yet leaving on all time
Only a cry of grief, only a stain of crime!
Through every age and clime
Tracked by her radiant wing,
Yet leaving on all time
Only a cry of grief, only a stain of crime!
Jewelled in Eastern lands,
And painted with strange lures;
Carved goddess by Greek hands;
Sung round by Troubadours;
Still is her doom the same, this slave and toy of yours!
And painted with strange lures;
Carved goddess by Greek hands;
Sung round by Troubadours;
Still is her doom the same, this slave and toy of yours!
A Dalila, a Circe,
A Venus from the sea,
Loved—without faith or mercy,
A Saint—yet scorned is she;
Idol and Priestess both, yet never friend nor free!
A Venus from the sea,
Loved—without faith or mercy,
A Saint—yet scorned is she;
Idol and Priestess both, yet never friend nor free!
False tales of her ye weave,
To make your scorning good,
And lo! the concrete Eve
Is abstract Womanhood;
And pilloried with her one half the race hath stood.
To make your scorning good,
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Is abstract Womanhood;
And pilloried with her one half the race hath stood.
Yet since, like Man, she's tasted
The knowledge-bearing fruit,
The life and strength long wasted
That spring from that deep root
Now look and speak through her, no longer blind and mute.
The knowledge-bearing fruit,
The life and strength long wasted
That spring from that deep root
Now look and speak through her, no longer blind and mute.
Wide is the world, and scant
Her plot marked out by you;
She asks no royal grant,
For she is free-born too:
Give her her human rights, and see what she can do!
Her plot marked out by you;
She asks no royal grant,
For she is free-born too:
Give her her human rights, and see what she can do!
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