Sent from a dewy breast a cry for light: She moved, and at her feet the volume fell. 'Blame not thyself too much,' I said, nor blame Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; These were the rough ways of the world till now. For she that out of Lethe scales with man How shall men grow? but work no more alone! Our place is much: as far as in us lies We two will serve them both in aiding her― Will clear away the parasitic forms That seem to keep her up but drag her down Will leave her space to burgeon out of all Within her-let her make herself her own To give or keep, to live and learn and be All that not harms distinctive womanhood. For woman is not undevelopt man But diverse could we make her as the man, Sweet love were slain: his dearest bond is this Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be more of woman, she of man ; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words; And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Sit side by side, full-summ'd in all their powers, Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be, Self-reverent each and reverencing each, Distinct in individualities, But like each other ev'n as those who love. Then comes the statelier Eden back to men: Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm : Then springs the crowning race of humankind. May these things be!' They will not.' Sighing she spoke 'I fear 'Dear, but let us type them now In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest Of equal; seeing either sex alone Is half itself, and in true marriage lies Nor equal, nor unequal: each fulfils Defect in each, and always thought in thought, Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow, The single pure and perfect animal, The two-cell'd heart beating, with one full stroke, And again sighing she spoke: A dream That once was mine! what woman taught you this? Alone' I said from earlier than I know, Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world I loved the woman: he, that doth not, lives A drowning life, besotted in sweet self, Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce And girdled her with music. Happy he With such a mother! faith in womankind Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall He shall not blind his soul with clay.' Said Ida, tremulously, so all unlike • But I,' It seems you love to cheat yourself with words : This mother is your model. Never, Prince; You cannot love me.' 'Nay but thee' I said From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes, Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw Thee woman thro' the crust of iron moods That mask'd thee from men's reverence up, and forced Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now Giv'n back to life, to life indeed, thro' thee Indeed I love the new day comes, the light Lived over lift thine eyes; doubt me no more; Like yonder morning on the blind half-world; |