always supposed to wear black silks? And why are they always supposed
to be thin?--the old maids, I mean, not the silks. Why are literary
women always supposed to be frayed at the edges? And why, if they keep
up with the fashions and wear patent-leathers, do people say, in an
exasperatingly astonished tone, "Can that woman write books?" Why not,
pray? Does a fragment of genius corrupt the aesthetic sense? Is
writing a hardening process? Must you wear shabby boots and carry a
baggy umbrella just because you can write? Not a bit of it. Little as
some of you men may think it, literary women have souls, and a woman
with a soul must, of necessity, love laces and ruffled petticoats, and
high heels, and rosettes. Otherwise I question her possession of a
soul.



WOMAN'S RIGHTS IN LOVE

"She has laughed as softly as if she sighed!
She has counted six and over,
Of a purse well filled and a heart well tried--
Oh, each a worthy lover!
They 'give her time' for her soul must slip
When the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to none with her fair red lip--
But love seeks truer loving.

* * * * *

"Unless you can muse in a crowd all day
On the absent face that fixed you;