  SHE WALKETH VEILED AND SLEEPING.She walketh veiled and sleeping, For she knoweth not her power; She obeyeth but the pleading Of her heart, and the high leading Of her soul, unto this hour. Slow advancing, halting, creeping, Comes the Woman to the hour!— She walketh veiled and sleeping, For she knoweth not her power. TO MAN.In dark and early ages, through the primal forests faring, Ere the soul came shining into prehistoric night, Two-fold man was equal; they were comrades dear and daring, Living wild and free together in unreasoning delight. Ere the soul was born and consciousness came slowly, Ere the soul was born, to man and woman too, Ere he found the Tree of Knowledge, that awful tree and holy, Ere he knew he felt, and knew he knew. No more will I suffer while power and wisdom last!” Then said he to Pleasure, “I am strong, and I will show you That the will of man can seize you; aye, and hold you fast!” Food he ate for pleasure, and wine he drank for gladness, And woman? Ah, the woman! the crown of all delight!— His now—he knew it! He was strong to madness In that early dawning after prehistoric night. His—his forever! That glory sweet and tender! Ah, but he would love her! And she should love but him! He would work and struggle for her, he would shelter and defend her; She should never leave him, never, till their eyes in death were dim. Close, close he bound her, that she should leave him never; Weak still he kept her, lest she be strong to flee; And the fainting flame of passion he kept alive forever With all the arts and forces of earth and sky and sea. They have labored up together, blind and crippled, all astray! Through what a mighty volume, with a million shameful pages, From the freedom of the forest to the prisons of to-day! Food he ate for pleasure, and it slew him with diseases! Wine he drank for gladness, and it led the way to crime! And woman? He will hold her—he will have her when he pleases— And he never once hath seen her since the prehistoric time! Gone the friend and comrade of the day when life was younger, She who rests and comforts, she who helps and saves; Still he seeks her vainly, with a never-dying hunger; Alone beneath his tyrants, alone above his slaves! Toiler, bent and weary with the load of thine own making! Thou who art sad and lonely, though lonely all in vain! And found that Pleasure only was another name for Pain,— Nature hath reclaimed thee, forgiving dispossession! God hath not forgotten, though man doth still forget! The woman-soul is rising, in despite of thy transgression; Loose her now—and trust her! She will love thee yet! Love thee? She will love thee as only freedom knoweth; Love thee? She will love thee while Love itself doth live! Fear not the heart of woman! No bitterness it showeth! The ages of her sorrow have but taught her to forgive! WOMEN OF TO-DAY.You women of to-day who fear so much The women of the future, showing how The dangers of her course are such and such— What are you now? Great names! you cry, full scope to rule and please! Boom for wise age and energetic youth!— But are you these? Housekeepers? Do you then, like those of yore, Keep house with power and pride, with grace and ease? No, you keep servants only! What is more, You don’t keep these! Wives, say you? Wives! Blessed indeed are they Who hold of love the everlasting keys, Keeping their husbands’ hearts! Alas the day! You don’t keep these! And mothers? Pitying Heaven! Mark the cry From cradle death-beds! Mothers on their knees! Why, half the children born—as children die! You don’t keep these! And still the wailing babies come and go, And homes are waste, and husbands’ hearts fly far, There is no hope until you dare to know The thing you are! TO THE YOUNG WIFE.Are you content, you pretty three-years’ wife? Are you content and satisfied to live On what your loving husband loves to give, And give to him your life? To clean things dirty and to soil things clean; To be a kitchen-maid, be called a queen,— Queen of a cook-stove throne? Are you content to reign in that small space— A wooden palace and a yard-fenced land— With other queens abundant on each hand, Each fastened in her place? Are you content to rear your children so? Untaught yourself, untrained, perplexed, distressed, Are you so sure your way is always best? That you can always know? Have you forgotten how you used to long In days of ardent girlhood, to be great, To help the groaning world, to serve the state, To be so wise—so strong? And are you quite convinced this is the way, The only way a woman’s duty lies— Knowing all women so have shut their eyes? Seeing the world to-day? Have you no dream of life in fuller store? Of growing to be more than that you are? Doing the things you now do better far, Yet doing others—more? That as you entered upon nobler life You so became a richer, sweeter wife, A wiser mother too? What holds you? Ah, my dear, it is your throne, Yo
hildren whispered low, “See that you have as many when you go!” Then was recited how her life had part In building up this science and that art, Inventing here, administering there, Helping to organize, create, prepare, On her unmeasured value to the state. And the child, listening, grew in noble pride, And planned for greater praises when he died. Then the Poet spoke of those long ripening years; And tenderer music brought the grateful tears; And then, lest grief upon their heartstrings hang, Her children stood around the bier and sang: In the name of the mother that bore us— Bore us strong—bore us free— We will strive in the labors before us, Even as she! Even as she! In the name of her wisdom and beauty, Of her life full of light, We will live in our national duty, We will help on the right: We will love as her heart loved before us, Warm and wide—strong and high! In the name of the mother that bore us, We will live! We will die! IN MOTHER-TIME.When woman looks at woman with the glory in her eyes, When eternity lies open like a scroll, And the triumph of it ringeth And the sweetness of it singeth In the soul, Then we come to California, the Garden of the Lord, Through all its leagues of endless blossoming; And we sing, we sing together, to the whole world’s deep accord— And we feel each other praying Over what the flowers are saying As we sing. We were waiting, we were growing, glad of heart and strong of soul, Like the peace and power of all these virgin lands; Through the years of holy maidenhood with motherhood for goal— And soon we shall be holding Fruit of all life’s glad unfolding In our hands. White-robed mothers, flower-crowned mothers, in the splendor of their youth, In the grandeur of maturity and power; Feeling life has passed the telling in its joyousness and truth, Them the golden key of living In one hour. We come to California for the sunshine and the flowers; Our motherhood has brought us here as one; For the fruit of all the ages should share the shining hours, With the blossoms ever-springing And the golden globes low swinging, In the sun. SHE WHO IS TO COME.A woman—in so far as she beholdeth Her one Beloved’s face; A mother—with a great heart that enfoldeth The children of the Race; A body, free and strong, with that high beauty That comes of perfect use, is built thereof; A mind where Reason ruleth over Duty, And Justice reigns with Love; A self-poised, royal soul, brave, wise, and tender, No longer blind and dumb; A Human Being, of an unknown splendor, Is she who is to come! GIRLS OF TO-DAY.Girls of to-day! Give ear! Never since time began Has come to the race of man A year, a day, an hour, So full of promise and power As the time that now is here! Never in all the lands Was there a power so great, To move the wheels of state, To lift up body and mind, To waken the deaf and blind, As the power that is in your hands! Here at the gates of gold You stand in the pride of youth, Strong in courage and truth, Stirred by a force kept back Through centuries long and black, Armed with a power threefold! First: You are makers of men! Then Be the things you preach! Let your own greatness teach! When mothers like this you see Men will be strong and free— Then, and not till then! Have you not heard it said That men by women are led? True is the saying—true! See to it what you do! See that you lead them well! Third: You have work of your own! Maid and mother and wife, Look in the face of life! There are duties you owe the race! Outside your dwelling-place There is work for you alone! Maid and mother and wife, See your own work be done! Be worthy a noble son! Help man in the upward way! Truly, a girl to-day Is the strongest thing in life! “WE, AS WOMEN.”There’s a cry in the air about us— We hear it before, behind— Of the way in which “We, as women,” Are going to lift mankind! And our soft hair brushed and curled— Hats off! for “we, as women,” Are coming to help the world! Fair sisters, listen one moment— And perhaps you’ll pause for ten: The business of women as women Is only with men as men!It is a significant fact that the phenomenal improvement in horses during recent years is accompanied by the growing conviction that good points and a good record are as desirable in the dam as in the sire, if not more so. I had a quarrel yesterday, A violent dispute, With a man who tried to sell to me A strange amorphous brute; A beast to make you stare, An undeveloped, overgrown, Outrageous-looking mare. Her fore legs they were weak and thin, Her hind legs weak and fat; She was heavy in the quarters, With a narrow chest and flat; And she had managed to combine— I’m sure I don’t know how— The barrel of a greyhound With the belly of a cow. She seemed exceeding feeble, And he owned with manner bland That she walked a little, easily, But wasn’t fit to stand. I tried to mount the animal To test her on the track; But he cried in real anxiety, “Get off! You’ll strain her back!” And then I sought to harness her, But he explained at length That any draught or carriage work Was quite beyond her strength. No use upon the course!” Said I, “How can you have the face To call that thing a horse?” Said he, indignantly, “I don’t! I’m dealing on the square; I never said it was a horse, I told you ’twas a mare! “A mare was never meant to race, To carry, or to pull; She is meant for breeding only, so Her place in life is full.” Said I, “Do you pretend to breed From such a beast as that? A mass of shapeless skin and bone, Or shapeless skin and fat?” Said he, “Her sire was thoroughbred, As fine as walked the earth, And all her colts receive from him The marks of noble birth; “And then I mate her carefully With horses fine and fit; Mares do not need to have themselves The points which they transmit!” You can raise colts as fair From that fat cripple as you can From an able-bodied mare?” Quoth he, “I solemnly assert, Just as I said before, A mare that’s good for breeding Can be good for nothing more!” Cried I, “One thing is certain proof; One thing I want to see; Trot out the noble colts you raise From your anomaly.” He looked a little dashed at this, And the poor mare hung her head. “Fact is,” said he, “she’s had but one, And that one—well, it’s dead!” FEMININE VANITY.Feminine Vanity! O ye Gods! Hear to this man! As if silk and velvet and feathers and fur And jewels and gold had been just for her, Since the world began! Where is his memory? Let him look back—all of the way! Let him study the history of his race From the first he-savage that painted his face To the dude of to-day! The intricate patterns in red, black, and blue, The wearisome tortures of rich tattoo, Just made for girls? Is it only the squaw who files the teeth, And dangles the lip, and bores the ear, And wears bracelet and necklet and anklet as queer As the bones beneath? Look at the soldier, the noble, the king! Egypt or Greece or Rome discloses The purples and perfumes and gems and roses On a masculine thing! Look at the men of our own dark ages! Heroes too, in their cloth of gold, With jewels as thick as the cloth could hold, On the knights and pages! We wear false hair? Our man looks big! But it’s not so long, let me beg to state, Since every gentleman shaved his pate And wore a wig. French heels? Sharp toes? See our feet defaced? But there was a day when the soldier free Tied the toe of his shoe to the manly knee— Yes, and even his waist! Don’t speak of the time when a bran-filled bunch Made an English gentleman look like Punch— But feel of his shoulder! Feminine Vanity! O ye Gods! Hear to these men! Vanity’s wide as the world is wide! Look at the peacock in his pride— Is it a hen? THE MODEST MAID.I am a modest San Francisco maid, Fresh, fair, and young, Such as the painters gladly have displayed, The poets sung. Modest?—Oh, modest as a bud unblown, A thought unspoken; Hidden and cherished, unbeheld, unknown, In peace unbroken. Far from the holy shades of this my home, The coarse world raves, And the New Woman cries to heaven’s dome For what she craves. Loud, vulgar, public, screaming from the stage, Her skirt divided, Riding cross-saddled on the dying age, Justly derided. By her disgraced. My sphere is home. My soul I do not vex With zeal misplaced. Come then to me with happy heart, O man! I wait your visit. To guide your footsteps I do all I can, Am most explicit. As veined flower-petals teach the passing bee The way to honey, So printer’s ink displayed instructeth thee Where lies my money. Go see! In type and cut across the page, Before the nation, There you may read about my eyes, my age, My education, My fluffy golden hair, my tiny feet, My pet ambition, My well-developed figure, and my sweet, Retiring disposition. All, all is there, and now I coyly wait. Pray don’t delay. My address does the Blue Book plainly state, And mamma’s “day.” San Francisco, 1895. UNSEXED.It was a wild rebellious drone That loudly did complain; He wished he was a worker bee With all his might and main. “I want to work,” the drone declared. Quoth they, “The thing you mean Is that you scorn to be a drone And long to be a queen. “You long to lay unnumbered eggs, And rule the waiting throng; You long to lead our summer flight, And this is rankly wrong.” Cried he, “My life is pitiful! I only eat and wed, And in my marriage is the end— Thereafter I am dead. “I would I were the busy bee That flits from flower to flower; I long to share in work and care And feel the worker’s power.” Quoth they, “The life you dare to spurn Is set before you here As your one great, prescribed, ordained, Divinely ordered sphere! We should not be alive; Your modest task, when well fulfilled, Preserves the busy hive. “Why underrate your blessed power? Why leave your rightful throne To choose a field of life that’s made For working bees alone?” Cried he, “But it is not enough, My momentary task! Let me do that and more beside: To work is all I ask!” Then fiercely rose the workers all, For sorely were they vexed; “O wretch!” they cried, “should this betide, You would become unsexed!” And yet he had not sighed for eggs, Nor yet for royal mien; He longed to be a worker bee, But not to be a queen. FEMALES.The female fox she is a fox; The female whale a whale; The female eagle holds her place As representative of race As truly as the male. And scratch for herself beside; The mother cow doth nurse her calf, Yet fares as well as her other half In the pasture free and wide. The female bird doth soar in air; The female fish doth swim; The fleet-foot mare upon the course Doth hold her own with the flying horse— Yea, and she beateth him! One female in the world we find Telling a different tale. It is the female of our race, Who holds a parasitic place Dependent on the male. Not so, saith she, ye slander me! No parasite am I! I earn my living as a wife; My children take my very life. Why should I share in human strife. To plant and build and buy? The human race holds highest place In all the world so wide, Yet these inferior females wive, And raise their little ones alive, And feed themselves beside. Though sex be fair and good; A Human Creature is your state, And to be human is more great Than even womanhood! The female fox she is a fox; The female whale a whale; The female eagle holds her place As representative of race As truly as the male. A MOTHER’S SOLILOQUY.You soft, pink, moving thing! Young limbs that crave Motion as free as zephyr-lifted wave; Uneasy with the push of unlearned powers! Exploring slowly through half-conscious hours; With what rich new surprise and joy you feel Your own will move yourself from head to heel! So, let me swaddle you in bandage tight, Dress you in wide, confining folds of white, Cover you warmly, hold you close, and so A mother’s instinct-guided love I’ll show! Mysterious little frame! Each organ new And learning swiftly what it has to do! Refreshed by heaven’s sunlit air divine; With what delight you breathe in rosy ease The strengthening, restful, blossom-scented breeze! So, let me wrap you in a blanket shawl, And veil your face in woollen, when at all You meet the air. Here in my arms is best The curtained bedroom where your elders rest; So shall I guard you from a draught, and so A mother’s instinct-guided love I’ll show. Young earnest mind at work! Each sense attends To teach you life’s approaching foes and friends; Eye, ear, nose, tongue, and ever ready hand, Eager to help you learn and understand. What floods of happiness the day insures, While each new knowledge is becoming yours! So, let me firmly take away from you The things you so persistently would view; And when you stretch the hand that tells so much, Rap your soft knuckles and exclaim, “Don’t touch!” I’ll tell you what you ought to learn, and so, A mother’s instinct-guided love I’ll show. An ordinary child at best, So neighbors tell; Not very large and strong, not very well; Fevers that flush and chill, and coughs that whoop; To unknown naughtiness and well-known pain; No racial progress here—no special gain! But I, your mother, see with other eyes; I hold you second to none under skies, This estimate, unbased on any fact, Shall teach you how to feel and how to act, Shall make you wise, and true, and strong, and so, A mother’s instinct-guided love I’ll show. THEY WANDERED FORTH.They wandered forth in springtime woods, Three women, thickly hung With yards and yards of woollen goods— To play that they were young! The river raced with the racing air; The woods were wild with song; The glad birds darted everywhere— And so they walked along! Stiff-bodied, fat, oppressed with cloth, Dull-colored, sad to see, Slow-moving over the bright grass, Their shapeless shadows fall and pass, And dreaming not—alas! alas! Of what dear life might be! BABY LOVE.Baby Love came prancing by, Cap on head and sword on thigh, Horse to ride and drum to beat,— All the world beneath his feet. Mother Life was sitting there, Hard at work and full of care, Set of mouth and sad of eye. Baby Love came prancing by. Baby Love was very proud, Very lively, very loud; Mother Life arose in wrath, Set an arm across his path. Baby Love wept loud and long, But his mother’s arm was strong. Mother had to work, she said. Baby Love was put to bed. |
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