ONE WOMAN'S WORK,

A young man jested with the stars
And turned to wax the old world's bars.

The wide earth danced beneath his spell,
Mark now his passing down to hell.

He met a woman cumberous kind,
His body clamorous was blind.

Simple yet subtle-souled was she
Desirous of maternity.

Heavy and learned in things to eat-
She for the spirit served up meat,

And for God's wine long draughts of beer
Nor saw the devil's cheerful leer.

Cunning she was to lay him down,
Replaced a night-cap for his crown.

For the wild nights of Dione
Chaste wedlock's sensuality.

A pleasant pillow in the dark
Her rounded body - never stark

With passion beating like a tide
Moon driven up the bright shore's side.

A child she bore him every year.
Thus rabbit - wise she had no peer

Men said at bare maternity
In that found her felicity -

Perchance her one hope of expression
Where vacancy had ta'en possession.

And all her thought was fashioning
To drive out the accursed thing

The wandering flame we call man's soul -
And she (as few do) reached her goal.

For the white soul that leapt abroad
She set clean collars on her lord.

For bread and honey by a tree
She lured him grossly back to tea.

For fierce hours spent upon a score
Rich pupils gathered round his door.

Her honour grew in all men's hearts
A perfect wife, how pure, how wise,

An artist's wife as women can-
Has made the cad a gentleman-

Does such a woman want a vote ?'
I think not but I would her throat

A leopard woman's knife had slit
And the man wept with joy at it,

And flung him on that woman blest
And clad her in a scarlet vest,

And riotous away had run
To dance and flaunt them neath the sun,

And later watched the stars again,
And washed them in the baths of pain,

And in the fire made them whole
And in the wonder healed their soul -