The Englishman and Other Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
page 46 of 75 (61%)
page 46 of 75 (61%)
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THE SPINSTER I Here are the orchard trees all large with fruit; And yonder fields are golden with young grain. In little journeys, branchward from the nest, A mother bird, with sweet insistent cries, Urges her young to use their untried wings. A purring Tabby, stretched upon the sward, Shuts and expands her velvet paws in joy, While sturdy kittens nuzzle at her breast. O mighty Maker of the Universe, Am I not part and parcel of Thy World, And one with Nature? Wherefore, then, in me Must this great reproductive impulse lie Hidden, ashamed, unnourished, and denied, Until it starves to slow and tortuous death? I knew the hope of spring-time; like the tree Now ripe with fruit, I budded, and then bloomed; We laughed together through the young May morns; We dreamed together through the summer moons; Till all Thy purposes within the tree Were to fruition brought. Lord, Thou hast heard The Woman in me crying for the Man; |
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