 | Women must weep |  |
ASIDE.
Whisper it, ah, in accents low,
Safe in the bosom hide,
Let not a blast it rudely blow,
Murmur it by the fireside glow,
Tell to the ebbing tide;
Soft and slow,
Garlands throw
Over the graves where living bide,
Women and children slain by pride,
Lust in its conquering flow;
Tenderly speak, lest men deride,
Just to the heart aside.
Safe in the bosom hide,
Let not a blast it rudely blow,
Murmur it by the fireside glow,
Tell to the ebbing tide;
Soft and slow,
Garlands throw
Over the graves where living bide,
Women and children slain by pride,
Lust in its conquering flow;
Tenderly speak, lest men deride,
Just to the heart aside.
Meekly repeat the old sad tale,
Under the breath with tears,
Old as the hills, but never stale,
Sobb'd by the sea and moan'd by gale,
Burden of all the years—
Down the scale,
Over dale—
Woman beguiled by hopes and fears,
Woman beseeching though none hears,
Shut in the shadowy vale,
Left to the burning sin that sears,
Sorrow that yet endears.
Under the breath with tears,
Old as the hills, but never stale,
Sobb'd by the sea and moan'd by gale,
Burden of all the years—
Down the scale,
Over dale—
Woman beguiled by hopes and fears,
Woman beseeching though none hears,
Shut in the shadowy vale,
Left to the burning sin that sears,
Sorrow that yet endears.
137
Talk of it tenderly, O be kind,
As thou wouldst evil flee,
If at the Judgment thou wouldst find
Pity, with looks divinely blind—
Hope at the last for thee:
Wave and wind
Man may bind,
Prey from the hand of spoiler free,
Not, through the mystic marvel see,
Way of a maiden's mind—
Thoughts that could bend the proudest knee,
Won not by earthly fee.
As thou wouldst evil flee,
If at the Judgment thou wouldst find
Pity, with looks divinely blind—
Hope at the last for thee:
Wave and wind
Man may bind,
Prey from the hand of spoiler free,
Not, through the mystic marvel see,
Way of a maiden's mind—
Thoughts that could bend the proudest knee,
Won not by earthly fee.
Gently rebuke her, fondly blame
Error perchance thy own;
Fearfully lift the veil of shame,
Modestly clothe the soilèd frame,
Whence the delight has flown;
Wash her fame,
Not with flame,
But in the fountain love has shown,
Many a spotted spirit known,
Which to the fountain came;
Spare, because thou the seed hast sown,
Unto such blackness grown.
Error perchance thy own;
Fearfully lift the veil of shame,
Modestly clothe the soilèd frame,
Whence the delight has flown;
Wash her fame,
Not with flame,
But in the fountain love has shown,
Many a spotted spirit known,
Which to the fountain came;
Spare, because thou the seed hast sown,
Unto such blackness grown.
| Women must weep | |