What Great Men Have Said About Women - BestLightNovel.com
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Her brow was smooth and white....
No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripped with foot so free, She seemed as happy as a wave, That dances on the sea.
_The Two April Mornings._
The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see, Even in the motions of the storm, Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy.
The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place, Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pa.s.s into her face.
And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell.
_Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower._
How blest the Maid whose heart--yet free From Love's uneasy sovereignty-- Beats with a fancy running high, Her simple cares to magnify; Whom Labour, never urged to toil, Hath cherished on a healthful soil; Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf; Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty self Reflected in some crystal brook; Whom grief hath spared,--who sheds no tear But in sweet pity; and can hear Another's praise from envy clear.
_The Three Cottage Girls._
A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, n.o.bly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light.
_A Phantom of Delight._
She was happy, Like a spirit of air she moved, Wayward, yet by all who knew her For her tender heart beloved.
_The Westmoreland Girl._
This light-hearted Maiden....
High is her aim as Heaven above, And wide as either her good-will; And, like the lowly reed, her love Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill; Insight as keen as frosty star Is to her charity no bar, Nor interrupts her frolic graces.
_The Triad._
O Lady bright, Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined By favouring Nature, and a saintly mind, To something purer and more exquisite Than flesh and blood!
_Sonnet._
A maid whom there wore none to praise And very few to love; A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star when only one Is s.h.i.+ning in the sky.
_Poems of the Affections, 8._
Whether in the semblance drest Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west, Come with each anxious hope subdued, By woman's gentle fort.i.tude, Each grief, through weakness, settling into rest.
_The Triad._
How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
_Poems of the Affections, 17._
Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth To crush the mountain dew-drops,--soon to melt On the flower's breast; as if she felt That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue, With all their fragrance, all their glistening, Call to the heart for inward listening.
_The Triad._
Let other bards of angels sing, Bright suns without a spot; But thou art no such perfect thing; Rejoice that thou art not!
Heed not though none should call thee fair; So, Mary, let it be If naught in loveliness compare With what thou art to me.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart to heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
_Poems of the Affections, 15._
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine, Through my very heart they s.h.i.+ne; And, if my brow gives back their light, Do thou look gladly on the sight; As the clear moon with modest pride Beholds her own bright beams Reflected from the mountain's side And from the headlong streams.
_Poems of the Affections, 18._
How beautiful when up a lofty height Honour ascends.
A Widow ...
She wasted no complaint, but strove to make A just repayment, both for conscience's sake And that herself and hers should stand upright In the world's eye.
_The Widow._
The Maiden grew Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave, Though young, so wise, though meek, so resolute.
_Grace Darling._
In her face and mien The soul's pure brightness he beheld, Without a veil between.
_The Russian Fugitive._
We her discretion have observed, Her just opinions, delicate reserve, Her patience, and humility of mind.
Unspoiled by commendation....
_The Borderers._
