And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The love I bear thee, finding words enough, And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough, Between our faces, to cast light on each? - I dropt it at thy feet. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirits so far off From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof In words, of love hid in me out of reach. Nay, let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief, - Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed, And rend the garment of my life, in brief, By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude, Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

But the child's sob curses deeper in the silence than the strong man in his wrath!

We can't separate our humanity from our poetry.

Every age, Through being beheld too close, is ill-discerned By those who have not lived past it.

Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

A woman's always younger than a man at equal years.

And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the need of thinking of it?