Even to that piece of her she calls her son!
Son he may be, but still he is a man,
And she, though mother, is a woman still;
And men and women are made different,
And vainly ’gainst the barrier of sex
They beat and beat,—all their lives long they beat,
And never pass, never quite understand!
Yet must I do this hard thing for thy sake,
Since who shall do it for thee, if not I?
Thy father, who had else more fitly told,