Rising from fateful and forbidden ways,
To find a woman's hand upon my brow;

Soft as a pad of rose-leaves, and as pure
As upraised palms of angels, seen in dreams:
And soothed by it, to stand as it beseems
A man who strives to conquer and endure.

A woman's hand!--there is no better thing
Of all things human; it is half divine;
It hath been more to this lame life of mine,

When faith was weakness, and despair was king.
Man more than all men, Thou wast glad to bless
A woman's sacrifice and tenderness.






ONE FACE I SEE

One face I see by thine whene'er I hold
Converse with things that are or things that were;
Whene'er I seek life's hidden folds to stir,
And watch the inner to the outer rolled.

Dost thou not know her, O beloved one?
Hast thou not felt her sunshine on thy face?