A natural woman’s heart, not more than clad By station and bright raiment, gathers heat From nakedness in trusted hands: she had The joy of those who feel the world’s heart beat, After long doubt of it as fire or ice; Because one man had helped her to breathe free; Surprised to faith in something of a price Past the old charity in chivalry:— Our first wild step to right the loaded scales Displaying women shamefully outweighed. The wisdom of humaneness best avails For serving justice till that fraud is brayed. Her buried body fed the life she drank. And not another stripping of her wound! The startled thought on black delirium sank, While with her gentle surgeon she communed, And woman’s prospect of the yoke repelled. Her buried body gave her flowers and food; The peace, the homely skies, the springs that welled; Love, the large love that folds the multitude. Soul’s chastity in honesty, and this With beauty, made the dower to men refused. And little do they know the prize they miss; Which is their happy fortune! Thus he mused For him, the cynic in the Sage had play A hazy moment, by a breath dispersed; To think, of all alive most wedded they, Whom time disjoined! He needed her quick thirst For renovated earth: on earth she gazed, With humble aim to foot beside the wise. Lo, where the eyelashes of night are raised Yet lowly over morning’s pure grey eyes. ‘LOVE IS WINGED FOR TWO’ LOVE is winged for two, In the worst he weathers, When their hearts are tied; But if they divide, O too true! Cracks a globe, and feathers, feathers, Feathers all the ground bestrew. I was breast of morning sea, Rosy plume on forest dun, I the laugh in rainy fleeces, While with me She made one. Now must we pick up our pieces, For that then so winged were we. ‘ASK, IS LOVE DIVINE’ ASK, is Love divine, Voices all are, ay. Question for the sign, There’s a common sigh. Would we, through our years, Love forego, Quit of scars and tears? Ah, but no, no, no! ‘JOY IS FLEET’ JOY is fleet, Sorrow slow. Love, so sweet, Sorrow will sow. Love, that has flown Ere day’s decline, Love to have known, Sorrow, be mine! THE LESSON OF GRIEF Not ere the bitter herb we taste, Which ages thought of happy times, To plant us in a weeping waste, Rings with our fellows this one heart Accordant chimes. When I had shed my glad year’s leaf, I did believe I stood alone, Till that great company of Grief Taught me to know this craving heart For not my own. WIND ON THE LYRE