To be a woman, and a wife,
With privilege to dwell apart,
And hold unseen her modest life--

Alike from praise and blame aloof,
And free to live and move in peace
Beneath love's consecrated roof--
Was boon so great she could not cease
Her thanks for the divine behoof.

Black turns to brown and blue to blight
Beneath the blemish of the sun;
And e'en the spotless robe of white,
Worn overlong, grows dim and dun
Through the strange alchemy of light.

Nor wives nor maidens, weak or brave,
Can stand and face the public stare,
And win the plaudits that they crave,
And stem the hisses that they dare,
And modest truth and beauty save.

No woman, in her soul, is she
Who longs to poise above the roar
Of motley multitudes, and be
The idol at whose feet they pour
The wine of their idolatry.

Coarse labor makes its doer coarse;
Great burdens harden softest hands;