Yesterday with seventeen years
Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,
I am grey-haired, it appears,
Now in all things--save my hair.
Yesterday, I had a thought,
Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn!
Did you ever have a thought?
Rather was a feeling born.
Dare a woman think? This screed
Wisdom long ago begot:
"Follow woman must, not lead;
If she thinks, she follows not."
Wisdom speaks--I credit naught:
Rather hops and stings like flea:
"Woman seldom harbours thought;
If she thinks, no good is she!"
To this wisdom, old, renowned,
Bow I in deep reverence:
Now my wisdom I'll expound
In its very quintessence.
A voice spoke in me yesterday
As ever--listen if you can:
"Woman is more beauteous aye,
But more interesting--man!"
"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7]
Cave where the dead ones rest,
O marble falsehood, thee
I love: for easy jest
My soul thou settest free.
To-day, to-day alone,
My soul to tears is stirred,
At thee, the pictured stone,
At thee, the graven word.
This picture (none need wis)
I kissed the other day.
When there's so much to kiss
Why did I kiss the--clay?
Who knows the reason why?
"A tombstone fool!" you laugh:
I kissed--I'll not deny--
E'en the long epitaph.