University of Virginia Library

Is it a woman's fault not to be young?
To be left lonely? Men have held it so.
They blame us for misfortunes more than sins,
In their half-civilized instinct.
“But the sea!
Would I could rest myself on its unrest,
Drown in its vast complaint my little moan!
I never saw the sea.”
“Nor mountains I,”
Said Esther; “tell me of them.”
“Of myself
I'll tell you first; it is your due to know
Something about me. Widowed now of him
Whose love of books I have inherited,
My mother keeps his farm at Holderness;
Dear village, in whose ancient church I learned
The Creed and Ten Commandments!
“Boys and books
Our house is full of; little else indeed.
One baby sister blossoms like a rose
Among her thorny brothers, all grown rough
With farm-work, and yet all with scholar-tastes.
Rich relatives I have. More doors than one
Would open to me, if I would but be
Adopted lady-daughter; but I choose
A way more independent, and am here.”
Then, silent for a moment, she sighed out,
“O, life is hard and cold! and God himself
Is hid in heaven. And I—why was I born?”