 | Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell |  |
62
“A TRUE WOMAN.”
Good Sir, your vows but weary me,—no more—
I prithee take them to some other door,
And pass this poor one by,
Nor need you, Sir,—the boast's your own—despair,
For there are many ladies, Sir, more fair,
Who languish for your sigh.
I prithee take them to some other door,
And pass this poor one by,
Nor need you, Sir,—the boast's your own—despair,
For there are many ladies, Sir, more fair,
Who languish for your sigh.
The town says you have often sworn to love,
Your vows but cunning springes subtly wove,
To catch unwary hearts,
'Tis thus you fill in sport an empty day,
And pass some idle moments,—think it play,—
And triumph in your arts.
Your vows but cunning springes subtly wove,
To catch unwary hearts,
'Tis thus you fill in sport an empty day,
And pass some idle moments,—think it play,—
And triumph in your arts.
You take in vain—as some men God's—love's name,
Debase and put it to an open shame,
And tread it in the dust.
Love that should stainless be as heav'n and pure,
You turn into a fit and proper lure
To slay a woman's trust.
Debase and put it to an open shame,
And tread it in the dust.
Love that should stainless be as heav'n and pure,
You turn into a fit and proper lure
To slay a woman's trust.
63
You boast, too, of your triumphs before men,
Your conquests over Kate, and May, and Gwen,
The last almost a child;
So innocent, so young, so guileless, fair,
Who never knew a mother's tender care,
She also was beguiled.
Your conquests over Kate, and May, and Gwen,
The last almost a child;
So innocent, so young, so guileless, fair,
Who never knew a mother's tender care,
She also was beguiled.
And now you come to try your arts on me,
A humble suitor—bend the facile knee,
And worship at my shrine.
You think I, too, will fall an easy prey,
And, Sir, you dared to name me yesterday
Lightly across the wine.
A humble suitor—bend the facile knee,
And worship at my shrine.
You think I, too, will fall an easy prey,
And, Sir, you dared to name me yesterday
Lightly across the wine.
They call you “Lady Killer,” as you know,
You come, you see, you conquer, and you go,
Without one passing sigh.
A butterfly, you rifle each sweet flower,
And having spent with each a honey'd hour,
Leave them to pine and die.
You come, you see, you conquer, and you go,
Without one passing sigh.
A butterfly, you rifle each sweet flower,
And having spent with each a honey'd hour,
Leave them to pine and die.
O brave! O brave! your manhood's strength to use
Against our weakness, thinking we must lose
In such unequal game;
You laugh, you jest, to see how frail we are,
And judge us all before one common bar,
Deeming us all the same.
Against our weakness, thinking we must lose
In such unequal game;
You laugh, you jest, to see how frail we are,
And judge us all before one common bar,
Deeming us all the same.
64
You know us not—we are not the weak things
You take us for, poor moths that singe their wings
At ev'ry taper's flame,
We women, Sir, are noble, pure, and true,
Worthy men's honour, and their reverence due,
And those from them we claim.
You take us for, poor moths that singe their wings
At ev'ry taper's flame,
We women, Sir, are noble, pure, and true,
Worthy men's honour, and their reverence due,
And those from them we claim.
If my voice falters, 'tis from my disdain,
I shame to weep, although I feel the pain,
Down to the heart's red core.
Traitor to love, my deepest scorn is stirr'd,
There lies your way. No, not another word—
Peace, peace—there is the door,
I shame to weep, although I feel the pain,
Down to the heart's red core.
Traitor to love, my deepest scorn is stirr'd,
There lies your way. No, not another word—
Peace, peace—there is the door,
| Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell | |