She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room

O mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies, O skilled to sing of Time or Eternity, God-gifted organ-voice of England, Milton, a name to resound for ages.

Thoroughly to believe in one's own self, so one's self were thorough, were to do great things.

Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be it one that can rule and dare not lie.

I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul

In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.