Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge with other tales, representing life as it is and intended to show what it should be |
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WOMAN. |
 | Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge |  |
WOMAN.
WOMAN.
BY FRANCIS W. THOMAS,
Author of `Clinton Bradshaw,' Etc.
How beautiful is woman's life,
When first her suppliant woos and kneels,
And she with young and warm hopes rife,
Believes he deeply feels.
Then day is gladness, and the night
Looks on her with its starry eyes,
As though it gave her all their might
Over men's destinies.
Wrapt watchers of the skicy gleam,
Then men are like astronomers
Who gaze and gladden at the beam
Of that bright eye of hers.
And if a frown obscure its light,
'Tis like a cloud to star-struck men,
Through the long watches of the night, —
Oh! for that beam again!
When first her suppliant woos and kneels,
And she with young and warm hopes rife,
Believes he deeply feels.
Then day is gladness, and the night
Looks on her with its starry eyes,
As though it gave her all their might
Over men's destinies.
Wrapt watchers of the skicy gleam,
Then men are like astronomers
Who gaze and gladden at the beam
Of that bright eye of hers.
And if a frown obscure its light,
'Tis like a cloud to star-struck men,
Through the long watches of the night, —
Oh! for that beam again!
170
How heart-struck that astrologer,
A gazer on the starry zone,
When first he looked in vain for her,
The lovely Pleiad gone.
But men watch not the stars always —
And though the Pleiad may be lost,
Yet still there are a thousand rays
From the surrounding host.
And woman, long before the grave
Closes above her dreamless rest,
May be man's empress and his slave,
And his discarded jest.
Still may that Pleiad shine afar,
But pleasure-led o,er summer seas,
Who dwells upon a single star
Amid the Pleiades.
Man courts the constellations bright,
That beam upon his bounding bark,
Nor thinks upon the left lone light,
'Till all above is dark.
Then when he knows nor land nor main,
And darkly is his frail bark tossed,
He counts the separate stars in vain
And mourns the Pleiad lost.
A gazer on the starry zone,
When first he looked in vain for her,
The lovely Pleiad gone.
But men watch not the stars always —
And though the Pleiad may be lost,
Yet still there are a thousand rays
From the surrounding host.
And woman, long before the grave
Closes above her dreamless rest,
May be man's empress and his slave,
And his discarded jest.
Still may that Pleiad shine afar,
But pleasure-led o,er summer seas,
Who dwells upon a single star
Amid the Pleiades.
Man courts the constellations bright,
That beam upon his bounding bark,
Nor thinks upon the left lone light,
'Till all above is dark.
Then when he knows nor land nor main,
And darkly is his frail bark tossed,
He counts the separate stars in vain
And mourns the Pleiad lost.
| Mr. and Mrs. Woodbridge | |