Sometimes she seems so helpless and so mild, So full of sweet unreason and so weak, So prone to some capricious whim or freak; Now gay, now tearful, and now anger-wild, By her strange moods of waywardness beguiled And entertained, I stroke her pretty cheek, And soothing words of peace and comfort speak; And love her as a father loves a child. Sometimes when I am troubled and sore pressed On every side by fast advancing care, She rises up with such majestic air, I deem her some Olympian goddess-guest, Who brings my heart new courage, hope, and rest; In her brave eyes dwells balm for my despair, And then I seem, while fondly gazing there, A loving child upon my mother’s breast. Again, when her warm veins are full of life, And youth’s volcanic tidal wave of fire Sends the swift mercury of her pulses higher, Her beauty stirs my heart to maddening strife, And all the tiger in my blood is rife; I love her with a lover’s fierce desire, And find in her my dream, complete, entire, Child, Mother, Mistress--all in one word--Wife. INBORN. As long as men have eyes wherewith to gaze, As long as men have eyes. The sight of beauty to their sense shall be As mighty winds are to a sleeping sea When stormy billows rise. And beauty’s smile shall stir youth’s ardent blood As rays of sunlight burst the swelling bud; As long as men have eyes wherewith to gaze. As long as men have words wherewith to praise, As long as men have words, They shall describe the softly-moulded breast, Where Love and Pleasure make their downy nest, Like little singing birds; And lovely limbs, and lips of luscious fire, Shall be the theme of many a poet’s lyre, As long as men have words wherewith to praise. As long as men have hearts that long for homes, As long as men have hearts, Hid often like the acorn in the earth, Their inborn love of noble woman’s worth, Beyond all beauty’s arts, Shall stem the sensuous current of desire, And urge the world’s best thought to something higher. As long as men have hearts that long for homes. TWO PRAYERS. HIS.