“And, if our robber lords would rob us still
With the foul hoard of beasts without a soul,
They may find leprous hands to work their will,
But, for their ships, where will they find the coal?”
“Help them!” the voices cry. They help them. Here,
Resolute, stern, menacing, hark the sound!
Look, ’tis the simple fearlessness of fear—
Dark faces and deep voices all around.
TO HIS LOVE.
“Teach me, love, to be true;
Teach me, love, to love;
Teach me to be pure like you.
It will be more than enough!
“Ah, and in days to come,
Give me, my seraph, too,
A son nobler than I,
A daughter true like you:
“A son to battle the wrong,
To seek and strive for the right;
A beautiful daughter of song,
To point us on to the light!”
HER POEM:
“my baby girl, that was born and died on the same day.”
“Ah, with torn heart I see them still,
Wee unused clothes and empty cot.
Though glad my love has missed the ill
That falls to woman’s lot.
“No tangled paths for her to tread
Throughout the coming changeful years;
No desperate weird to dree and dread;
No bitter lonely tears!
“No woman’s piercing crown of thorns
Will press my aching baby’s brow;
No starless nights, no sunless morns,
Will ever greet her now.