TRIBUTE

Remembering one woman I have seen

And have known,

Benignant eyes, nobility of mien,

A scarf from off a perfect shoulder blown,

Solicitude, white ardor in a face,

Motions like water under the moon's grace,—

I wonder much how men can be so base,

So worse than stone.

Oh murmurings of music through the world,

Ye women born

To arduous things and angers, and upwhirled

Like tongues of flame through smoke of the world's scorn,

Crystalline lights, awful and fitful gleams

Of reconciliation with our dreams,

Through you alone the world's true spirit streams

Sounding her silver horn.

All things I wish for you that height may hold,

Who hold the race,

Oh desperate runners on the track unrolled

Over the highlands now, in the sun's face;

O swift and free, hoverers on the verge

Whence the impossible things we mocked emerge,—

O wings — wings — sliding the starry surge

And veering on the chase!

The satyr and the centaur race below

Deriding wings above.

Manful they meet and fight to overthrow

All they are wearied of,—

Manful they build, demolish, drive, are driven,—

But you are free, who have more greatly striven,

Yours is the light above their lightless heaven,

For yours is Love!