Yet man, who shivers like a straw
Before Temptation's lightest breeze,
Assumes the master—gives the law
To her who, on her bended knees,
Resists the black-winged thunder-flaw!
To him who deems her weak and vain,
And boasts his own exceeding might,
She clings through darkest fortune fain;
Still loyal though the ruffian smite;
Still true, though crime his hands distain!
And is this weakness? Is it not
The strength of God, that loves and bears
Though He be slighted or forgot
In damning crimes, or driving cares,
And closest clings in darkest lot?
Not many friends my life has made;
Few have I loved, and few are they
Who in my hand their hearts have laid;
And these were women. I am gray,
But never have I been betrayed.
These words—this tribute—for the sake
Of truth to God and womankind!
These—that my heart may cease to ache
With love and gratitude confined,
And burning from my lips to break!
These—to that sisterhood of grace
That numbers in its sacred list
My mother, risen to her place;
My wife, but yester-morning kissed,
And folded in Love's last embrace!
This tribute of a love profound
As ever moved the heart of man,
To those to whom my life is bound,
To her in whom my life began,
And her whose love my life hath crowned!
Immortal Love! Thou still hast wings
To lift me to those radiant fields,
Where Music waits with trembling strings,
And Verse her happy numbers yields,
And all the soul within me sings.
So from the lovely Pagan dream
I call no more the Tuneful Nine;
For Woman is my Muse Supreme;
And she with fire and flight divine,
Shall light and lead me to my theme.