Women must weep By Prof. F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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DIGGING THEIR GRAVES. |
 | Women must weep |  |
DIGGING THEIR GRAVES.
What are they doing—those horrible shapes,
Gibbering fiends and chattering apes,
Haggard and ghastly, unwomanly forms,
Scorch'd and all scarr'd by the scathing of storms,
Huddled, half clothed in the remnants of rags?
God, are they earthly or hell-gotten hags?—
Ghosts of our vices, our victims and slaves,
Dying, they dig their own pitiful graves.
Gibbering fiends and chattering apes,
Haggard and ghastly, unwomanly forms,
Scorch'd and all scarr'd by the scathing of storms,
Huddled, half clothed in the remnants of rags?
God, are they earthly or hell-gotten hags?—
Ghosts of our vices, our victims and slaves,
Dying, they dig their own pitiful graves.
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Helpless and hopeless, forgotten and lost,
Seared by the sun, and bitten by frost,
Bound with the bands that eye cannot see,
Haunted by terrors that never may flee,
Weary, with fingers that tremble and spin,
Sexless are they, or things unsex'd with sin?
Fashion'd of tears and troubles and clouds,
Make they their coffins and weave their own shrouds.
Seared by the sun, and bitten by frost,
Bound with the bands that eye cannot see,
Haunted by terrors that never may flee,
Weary, with fingers that tremble and spin,
Sexless are they, or things unsex'd with sin?
Fashion'd of tears and troubles and clouds,
Make they their coffins and weave their own shrouds.
Hungry and homeless, in shadow and shame,
Begging the fire, and bemoaning the flame
Burnt in the bosoms it does not consume,
Dazed with the lights that no pathway illume,
Hated and hunted like creatures accurst,
Drinking in poison, yet ever athirst.
What are they planting, with labouring breath?
Gallows-trees, laden with black fruit of death.
Begging the fire, and bemoaning the flame
Burnt in the bosoms it does not consume,
Dazed with the lights that no pathway illume,
Hated and hunted like creatures accurst,
Drinking in poison, yet ever athirst.
What are they planting, with labouring breath?
Gallows-trees, laden with black fruit of death.
Once they were beautiful, fair without flaw,
Faithful to Heaven and loyal to law;
Once they were women, who loved and were loved,
Prettily booted, daintily gloved—
Once they were sisters and daughters—and now,
Branded are terrible tales on their brow.
What are they bearing, as bound by a spell?
Tolling in fear their own funeral-knell.
Faithful to Heaven and loyal to law;
Once they were women, who loved and were loved,
Prettily booted, daintily gloved—
Once they were sisters and daughters—and now,
Branded are terrible tales on their brow.
What are they bearing, as bound by a spell?
Tolling in fear their own funeral-knell.
Once they had mothers who bade them not weep,
Tuck'd them in tenderly, kiss'd them to sleep,
Smooth'd their white pillows, shut out the rude air,
Patted their cheeks and fondled their hair,
Smiled away dangers, petted and spoil'd,
Would not let one of their ribands be soil'd.
What are they now in the horror and strife?
Doom'd, they are turning the last page of life.
Tuck'd them in tenderly, kiss'd them to sleep,
Smooth'd their white pillows, shut out the rude air,
Patted their cheeks and fondled their hair,
Smiled away dangers, petted and spoil'd,
Would not let one of their ribands be soil'd.
What are they now in the horror and strife?
Doom'd, they are turning the last page of life.
Now they are shorn of all womanly grace,
Hardly seem human, like demons in face,
Blighted and blasted, so foul do they grow,
Sunk from above or sent from below;
Yet are they sisters, and down in the deeps
Lurks the sweet angel of hope—though he sleeps.
Shall we awake them, or leave to the gloom
Buried and damn'd, in the suicides' tomb?
Hardly seem human, like demons in face,
Blighted and blasted, so foul do they grow,
Sunk from above or sent from below;
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Lurks the sweet angel of hope—though he sleeps.
Shall we awake them, or leave to the gloom
Buried and damn'd, in the suicides' tomb?
| Women must weep | |