Maxioms by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Red as a rose of Harpocrate.
Red as a rose of Harpocrate.
Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor read more
Let no one till his death be called unhappy. Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.
By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out read more
By the way,
The works of women are symbolical.
We sew, sew, prick our fingers, dull out sight,
Producing what? A pair of slippers, sir,
To put on when you're weary--or a stool
To tumble over and vex you . . . curse that stool!
Or else at best, a cushion where you lean
And sleep, and dream of something we are not,
But would be for your sake. Alas, alas!
This hurts most, this . . . that, after all, we are paid
The worth of our work, perhaps.
You forget too much
That every creature, female as the male,
Stands single in responsible act and read more
You forget too much
That every creature, female as the male,
Stands single in responsible act and thought
As also in birth and death.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
