My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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WOMAN. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
WOMAN.
My fellow-men, as yet we have but seen
Wife, Sister, Mother and Daughter, not the Queen
Upon her Throne, with all her jewels crowned!
Wife, Sister, Mother and Daughter, not the Queen
Upon her Throne, with all her jewels crowned!
Unknowing how to seek, we have not found
Our Goddess, waiting her Pygmalion
To woo her into Woman from the stone!
Our Goddess, waiting her Pygmalion
To woo her into Woman from the stone!
Our Husbandry hath lacked essential power
To fructify the promise of the flower;
We have not known her nature ripe all round.
To fructify the promise of the flower;
We have not known her nature ripe all round.
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We have but seen her beauty on one side
That leaned in love to us with blush of bride:
The pure white Lily of all Womanhood
With heart all-golden still is in the bud.
That leaned in love to us with blush of bride:
The pure white Lily of all Womanhood
With heart all-golden still is in the bud.
We have but glimpsed a moment in her face
The glory she will give the future race;
The strong heroic spirit knit beyond
All induration of the Diamond.
The glory she will give the future race;
The strong heroic spirit knit beyond
All induration of the Diamond.
She is the natural bringer from above;
The Earthly mirror of Immortal Love;
The chosen Mouthpiece for the Mystic Word
Of Life Divine to speak through; and be heard
With human Voice, that makes its Heavenward call
Not in one Virgin Motherhood, but all.
The Earthly mirror of Immortal Love;
The chosen Mouthpiece for the Mystic Word
Of Life Divine to speak through; and be heard
With human Voice, that makes its Heavenward call
Not in one Virgin Motherhood, but all.
Unworthy of the gift how have Men trod
Her pearls of pureness, Swine-like, in the sod!
How often have they offered her the dust
And ashes of the fanned-out fires of lust;
Or, devilishly inflamed with the divine,
Waxed drunken with the Sacramental wine.
Her pearls of pureness, Swine-like, in the sod!
How often have they offered her the dust
And ashes of the fanned-out fires of lust;
Or, devilishly inflamed with the divine,
Waxed drunken with the Sacramental wine.
How have Men captured her with savage grips,
To stamp the kiss of Conquest on her lips,—
As feather in their crest have worn her grace,
Or brush of fox that crowns the hunter's chase;
Wooed her with Passions that but wed to fire
With Hymen's Torch their own funereal pyre;
Stripped her as Slave and Temptress of Desire;
Embraced the body when her soul was far
Beyond possession as the loftiest star!
Her Whiteness hath been tarnished by their touch;
Her Promise hath been broken in their clutch;
The Woman hath reflected Man too much,—
And made the Bread of Life with earthiest leaven.
To stamp the kiss of Conquest on her lips,—
As feather in their crest have worn her grace,
Or brush of fox that crowns the hunter's chase;
Wooed her with Passions that but wed to fire
With Hymen's Torch their own funereal pyre;
Stripped her as Slave and Temptress of Desire;
Embraced the body when her soul was far
Beyond possession as the loftiest star!
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Her Promise hath been broken in their clutch;
The Woman hath reflected Man too much,—
And made the Bread of Life with earthiest leaven.
Our coming Queen must be the Bride of Heaven;
The Wife who will not wear her bonds with pride
As Adult Doll with fripperies glorified:
The Mother fashioned on a nobler plan
Than Woman who was merely made from Man.
The Wife who will not wear her bonds with pride
As Adult Doll with fripperies glorified:
The Mother fashioned on a nobler plan
Than Woman who was merely made from Man.
| My Lyrical Life | |