The evening found us whom the day had fled,
Once more in bitter anger, you and I,
Over some small, some foolish, trivial thing
Our anger would not decently let die.
But dragged between us, shamed and shivering,
Until each other's taunts we scarcely heard,
Until we lost the sense of all we said,
And knew not who first spoke the fatal word.
It seemed that even every kiss we wrung
We killed at birth with shuddering and hate,
As if we feared a thing too passionate.
However close we clung
One hour, the next hour found us separate,
Estranged, and Love most bitter on our tongue.
To-night we quarrelled over one small head,
Our fruit of last year's maying, the white bud
Blown from our stormy kisses and the dead
First rapture of our wild, estranging blood.
You clutched him: there was panther in your eyes,
We breathed like beasts in thickets; on the wall
Our shadows swelled as in huge tyrannies,
The room grew dark with anger, yet through all
The shame and hurt and pity of it you were
Still strangely and imperishably dear,
As one who loves the wild day none the less
That turns to naught the lilac's miracle,
Breaking the unrecapturable spell
Of the first may-tree, magic and mystery
Utterly scattering of earth and sky.
Making even the rose's loveliness
A thing for pain to be remembered by.
I said: "My son shall wear his father's sword."
You said: "Shall hands once blossoms at my breast
Be stained with blood?" I answered with a word
More bitter, and your own, the bitterest,
Stung me to sullen anger, and I said:
"My son shall be no coward of his line
Because his mother choose"; you turned your head,
And your eyes grew implacable on mine.
And like a trodden snake you turned to meet
The foe with sudden hissing ... then you smiled
And broke our life in pieces at my feet,
"Your child?" you said. "Your child?" ...
ANDROMEDA UNFETTERED.
ANDROMEDA (the spirit of woman).
PERSEUS (the new spirit of man).
CHORUS (1) Women who desire the old thrall.
(2) Women who crave the new freedom.
The following poem is not a study of the economic struggle of women, but of the deep-rooted antagonism of spirit which constitutes the eternal sex-problem.
ANDROMEDA.
Chained to the years by the measureless wrong of man,
Here I hang, here I suffer, here I cry,
Since the light sprang forth from the dark, and the day began;
Since the sky was sundered and saved from the sea,
And the mouth of the beast was warm on the breast of the sod,
And the birds' feet glittered like rings on the blossoming tree,
And the rivers ran silver with scales, and the earth was thronged
With creatures lovely and wild and sane and free;
Till the Image of God arose from the dust and trod
Woman and beast and bird into slavery.
Who has wronged me? Man who all earth has wronged:
Who has mocked me? Man, who made mock of God.