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Which suit her better than themselves;
And all; by this their power to give;
Proving her right to take; proclaim
Her beauty's clear prerogative
To profit so by Eden's blame。
V
NEAREST THE DEAREST
Till Eve was brought to Adam; he
A solitary desert trod;
Though in the great society
Of nature; angels; and of God。
If one slight column counterweighs
The ocean; 'tis the Maker's law;
Who deems obedience better praise
Than sacrifice of erring awe。
VI
THE FOREIGN LAND
A woman is a foreign land;
Of which; though there he settle young;
A man will ne'er quite understand
The customs; politics; and tongue。
The foolish hie them post…haste through;
See fashions odd and prospects fair;
Learn of the language; 〃How d'ye do;〃
And go and brag they have been there。
The most for leave to trade apply;
For once; at Empire's seat; her heart;
Then get what knowledge ear and eye
Glean chancewise in the life…long mart。
And certain others; few and fit;
Attach them to the Court; and see
The Country's best; its accent hit;
And partly sound its polity。
Coventry Patmore '1823…1896'
A HEALTH
I fill this cup to one made up
Of loveliness alone;
A woman; of her gentle sex
The seeming paragon;
To whom the better elements
And kindly stars have given
A form so fair; that; like the air;
'Tis less of earth than heaven。
Her every tone is music's own;
Like those of morning birds;
And something more than melody
Dwells ever in her words;
The coinage of her heart are they;
And from her lips each flows
As one may see the burdened bee
Forth issue from the rose。
Affections are as thoughts to her;
The measures of her hours;
Her feelings have the fragrancy;
The freshness of young flowers;
And lovely passions; changing oft;
So fill her; she appears
The image of themselves by turns; …
The idol of past years!
Of her bright face one glance will trace
A picture on the brain;
And of her voice in echoing hearts
A sound must long remain;
But memory; such as mine of her;
So very much endears;
When death is nigh my latest sigh
Will not be life's; but hers。
I fill this cup to one made up
Of loveliness alone;
A woman; of her gentle sex
The seeming paragon …
Her health! and would on earth there stood
Some more of such a frame;
That life might be all poetry;
And weariness a name。
Edward Coote Pinkney '1802…1828'
OUR SISTER
Her face was very fair to see;
So luminous with purity: …
It had no roses; but the hue
Of lilies lustrous with their dew …
Her very soul seemed shining through!
Her quiet nature seemed to be
Tuned to each season's harmony。
The holy sky bent near to her;
She saw a spirit in the stir
Of solemn woods。 The rills that beat
Their mosses with voluptuous feet;
Went dripping music through her thought。
Sweet impulse came to her unsought
From graceful things; and beauty took
A sacred meaning in her look。
In the great Master's steps went she
With patience and humility。
The casual gazer could not guess
Half of her veiled loveliness;
Yet ah! what precious things lay hid
Beneath her bosom's snowy lid: …
What tenderness and sympathy;
What beauty of sincerity;
What fancies chaste; and loves; that grew
In heaven's own stainless light and dew!
True woman was she day by day
In suffering; toil; and victory。
Her life; made holy and serene
By faith; was hid with things unseen。
She knew what they alone can know
Who live above but dwell below。
Horatio Nelson Powers '1826…1890'
FROM LIFE
Her thoughts are like a flock of butterflies。
She has a merry love of little things;
And a bright flutter of speech; whereto she brings
A threefold eloquence … voice; hands and eyes。
Yet under all a subtle silence lies
As a bird's heart is hidden by its wings;
And you shall search through many wanderings
The fairyland of her realities。
She hides herself behind a busy brain …
A woman; with a child's laugh in her blood;
A maid; wearing the shadow of motherhood …
Wise with the quiet memory of old pain;
As the soft glamor of remembered rain
Hallows the gladness of a sunlit wood。
Brian Hooker '1880…
THE ROSE OF THE WORLD
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips; with all their mournful pride;
Mournful that no new wonder may betide;
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam;
And Usna's children died。
We and the laboring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls; that waver and give place;
Like the pale waters in their wintry race;
Under the passing stars; foam of the sky;
Lives on this lonely face。
Bow down; archangels; in your dim abode:
Before you were; or any hearts to beat;
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet。
William Butler Yeats '1865…
DAWN OF WOMANHOOD
Thus will I have the woman of my dream。
Strong must she be and gentle; like a star
Her soul burn whitely; nor its arrowy beam
May any cloud of superstition mar:
True to the earth she is; patient and calm。
Her tranquil eyes shall penetrate afar
Through centuries; and her maternal arm
Enfold the generations yet unborn;
Nor she; by passing glamor nor alarm;
Will from the steadfast way of life be drawn。
Gray…eyed and fearless; I behold her gaze
Outward into the furnace of the dawn。
Sacred shall be the purport of her days;
Yet human; and the passion of the earth
Shall be for her adornment and her praise。
She is most often joyous; with a mirth
That rings true…tempered holy womanhood;
She cannot fear the agonies of birth;
Nor sit in pallid lethargy and brood
Upon the coming seasons of her pain:
By her the mystery is understood
Of harvest; and fulfilment in the grain。
Yea; she is wont to labor in the field;
Delights to heap; at sunset; on the wain
Festoons and coronals of the golden yield。
A triumph is the labor of her soul;
Sublime along eternity revealed。
Lo; everlastingly in her control;
Under the even measure of her breath;
Like crested waves the onward centuries roll。
Nor to far heaven her spirit wandereth;
Nor lifteth she her voice in barren prayer;
Nor trembleth at appearances of death。
She; godlike in her womanhood; will fare
Calm…visaged and heroic to the end。
The homestead is her most especial care;
She loves the sacred hearth: she will defend
Her gods from desecration of the vile。
Fierce; like a wounded tigress; she can rend
Whatever may have entered to defile。
I see her in the evening by the fire;
And in her eyes; illumined from the pile
Of blazing logs; a motherly desire
Glows like the moulded passion of a rose;
Beautiful is her presence in the bower:
Her spirit is the spirit of repose。
Mankind shall hold her motherhood in a