XX.
Yet slow, so slowly, gleams the gathering light,
And lingers still the hovering shade of night;
Though part undone the wrong that we confess,
Repentance cannot instant bring redress;
Nor woman, tortured by her thraldom long,
At once stand forth emancipate and strong;
Her pain persistent, though she calm suppress
Her rancour for the past, with sweet forgivingness.