A Woman’s soul is Woman to the core,—
Not Man’s loose-fibréd and emasculate,
The feeble monster whom your moods create
To bruise as pet, to humble or adore,
In all the motions of her heart are more
Than man’s intensities of love or hate,
A strength to suffer that out-wearies fate,
And a mute patience when love’s dream is n’er (??)
The subtle ways her happy thought can find
Into the heart and secret soul of things,
Perplex the plodding and earth-delving mind
That creeps on crutches while she soars on wings.
The Eternal Womanly in the Life of All
Flows through her open soul, and shapes her coronal!
