 | Romance and revery |  |
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TWO WOMEN.
I.
She drags her steps, with slothful air,
From leaden sleep prolonged till late;
With careless robe, loose-knotted hair,
She lolls for hours inanimate;
And through the slow day's lagging flight
She coarsely gapes and yearns for night.
From leaden sleep prolonged till late;
With careless robe, loose-knotted hair,
She lolls for hours inanimate;
And through the slow day's lagging flight
She coarsely gapes and yearns for night.
But when the awaited darkness falls,
Faint pleasure warms her withered heart,
And to her faded cheek she calls
The rosy lie of cunning art,—
Till now, beneath its furtive power,
She beams forth like a baleful flower!
Faint pleasure warms her withered heart,
And to her faded cheek she calls
The rosy lie of cunning art,—
Till now, beneath its furtive power,
She beams forth like a baleful flower!
And when the night is further spent,
She trails in pride her gorgeous dress,
A shape of beauty strangely blent
With some elusive hideousness; ...
And now at last you see her well,
The bacchanal foster-child of hell!
She trails in pride her gorgeous dress,
A shape of beauty strangely blent
With some elusive hideousness; ...
And now at last you see her well,
The bacchanal foster-child of hell!
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II.
In vigils held near wasting pain,
In mercy's noblest deeds of gold,
She makes her life one sacred chain
Of sweet benignities untold,
And turns toward lofty goals of good
Her sacrificial womanhood!
In mercy's noblest deeds of gold,
She makes her life one sacred chain
Of sweet benignities untold,
And turns toward lofty goals of good
Her sacrificial womanhood!
Through haunts of hunger, woe and want,
With patient fervor, year by year,
She bears, divinely ministrant,
Her calm self-immolating cheer,
More welcome, where her footsteps pass,
Than silver rain to thirsting grass!
With patient fervor, year by year,
She bears, divinely ministrant,
Her calm self-immolating cheer,
More welcome, where her footsteps pass,
Than silver rain to thirsting grass!
In her deep look such stars endure,
Such holy splendor lights her face,
You know her soul so whitely pure,
That sometimes, where she moves in grace,
The rustling of her garment brings
Delicious dreams of fluttered wings!
Such holy splendor lights her face,
You know her soul so whitely pure,
That sometimes, where she moves in grace,
The rustling of her garment brings
Delicious dreams of fluttered wings!
| Romance and revery | |