Ada Cambridge: Verses about Woman

Every wild she-bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather,
But a captive woman, made for love -- no mate, no nest has she.
In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together,
And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see:
Nature's sacramental feast for these -- an empty board for me.

I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten --
I, like them have thrilled with passion and have dreamed of nuptial rest,
Of the trembling life within me of my children unbegotten,
Of a breathing new-born body to my yearning bosom prest,
Of the rapture of a little soft mouth drinking at my breast.

Time, that heals so many sorrows, keeps mine ever freshly aching;
Though my face is growing furrowed and my brown hair turning white,
Still I mourn my irremediable loss, asleep or waking --
Still I hear my son's voice calling "mother" in the dead of night,
And am haunted by my girl's eyes that will never see the light.

O my children that I might have had! my children, lost for ever!
O the goodly years that might have been -- now desolate and bare!
O malignant God or Fate, what have I done that I should never
Take my birthright like the others, take the crown that women wear,
And possess the common heritage to which all flesh is heir?

1.

Every wild she- bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather,
But a captive woman, made for love — nor nest, nor mate has she.
In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together,
And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see.
Life's great sacramental feast for them — an empty board for me.

2.

I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten —
I, like them, have thrilled with passion and have dreamed of nuptial rest,
Of the trembling life within me of my baby unbegotten,
Of the breathing new- born body to my yearning bosom prest
Of the rapture of its little soft mouth drinking at my breast.

3.

Time, that heals so many sorrows, keeps mine ever freshly aching,
Though my face is growing furrowed and my brown hair turning white.
Still I mourn my irremidiable loss, asleep or waking —
Still I hear my child's voice calling “Mother” in the dead of night,
And am haunted by those sweet eyes that will never see the light.

4.

O my baby that I might have had! My darling, lost for ever!
O the goodly years that might have been — now desolate and bare!
O malignant God or Fate, what have I done that I should never
Take my birthright like the others, take the crown that women wear,
And possess the common heritage to which all flesh is heir?

“Friend,” quoth Lord Nevil, “thou art young
To face the world, and thou art blind
To subtle ways of womankind;
The meshes thou wilt fall among.

“Take an old married man's advice;
Use the experience I have earned;
Watch well where women are concerned,—
They're not all birds of paradise!

“Be circumspect, or thou mayst fall;
Abjure a blind faith—nay, trust none—
Till thou hast chosen, proven one;
Then trust her truly—trust in all.

“Keep a calm brain and quiet eye,
And watch. The doll of powder and paint,
The flirt, the artificial saint,
The loud man-woman—pass them by.

“The innocent one, who craves thy cares
To shield her from life's fret and fray;
Lad, watch her—maybe she'll betray
Some doubtful knowledge, unawares.

“The pensive one, who droops and sighs—
Wait till her dreaming comes to test;
Be gentle, yet be wary, lest
'Tis but a graceful grey disguise.

“The world-wise husband-hunter—she
Who knows no love but love of gold,
And lands and titles—empty, cold,—
Pity her, lad, and let her be.

“And the rich heiress—let her pass.
Belike she's stupid, drugged with wealth,
And just enjoys her life and health
As some fat cow in clover grass.
“Or insolent with prosperity,
Unsharpened, shallow, unrefined;—
And thou art poor, and thou wilt mind
That proud blood cometh down to thee.

“The gushing gossip—she who rains
Incessant chatter in thine ears;—

She may be worth thy keenest fears,
She may be simply lacking brains,

“And lacking grace and modesty.
She will make mischief, at the best;
She may be wily, like the rest;
Keep thy tongue still when she is by.

“They that would master thee, if they could,
In brain and muscle—flaring lights—
The clamorous for false woman's rights;—
Snub them, my friend—it does them good—

“And do not think of them for wives.
Fit mates for such seem somewhat rare;
But when two odd ones make a pair,
They spoil at least four precious lives.

“But shouldst thou chance to meet a girl
With brave, bright eyes, that front thee straight,
A kindly tongue that does not prate,
And quiet lips that cannot curl;

“With fine sense, quick to understand;
With dignity that is not cold,
Sweet, sunny mirth that is not bold,
A ready ear, a willing hand;

“One skilled in household arts, and skilled
In little courteous, graceful ways,
That make no show and win no praise—
Wherewith discordant jars are stilled:

“One who will never touch a sore;
One who sheds sunshine round about,
And draws life's hidden comfort out;
One whom the boys and babes adore:

“One with an intellect to reach
The highest range that thou canst rise;
Who will aye help thee, woman-wise,
And yet not set herself to teach:

“One of whom women love to speak,
In honest kindness, and whose name
Men let alone; whose chiefest fame
Lies hidden where men may not seek;—

“Friend, woo her, as a good knight can,
And win her. Lay thou at her feet
Faith, love, and honour, true and sweet;
And count thyself a happy man.”