What Great Men Have Said About Women | Page 7

liberty;?A countenance in which did meet?Sweet records, promises as sweet;?A Creature not too bright or good?For human nature's daily food;?For transient sorrows, simple wiles,?Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
A Phantom of Delight.
Sister ... Thy mind?Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,?Thy memory be as a dwelling-place?For all sweet sounds and harmonies.
Tintern Abbey.
She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;?And humble cares, and delicate fears;?A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;?And love and thought and joy.
The Sparrow's Nest.
'Tis her's to pluck the amaranthine flower?Of faith, and 'round the sufferer's temples bind?Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,?And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
Weak is the Will of Man.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due?Is praise....?With admiration I behold?Thy gladness unsubdued and bold;?Thy looks, thy gestures, all present?The picture of a life well spent.
The Matron of Jedborough.
A blooming girl, whose hair was wet?With points of morning due....?Her brow was smooth and white....

No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free,
She seemed as happy as a wave,
That dances on the sea.
The Two April Mornings.
The floating clouds their state shall lend?To her; for her the willow bend;?Nor shall she fail to see,?Even in the motions of the storm,?Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form?By silent sympathy.?The stars of midnight shall be dear?To her; and she shall lean her ear?In many a secret place,?Where rivulets dance their wayward round,?And beauty born of murmuring sound?Shall pass into her face.?And vital feelings of delight?Shall rear her form to stately height,?Her virgin bosom swell.
Three Years She Grew in Sun and Shower.
How blest the Maid whose heart--yet free?From Love's uneasy sovereignty--?Beats with a fancy running high,?Her simple cares to magnify;?Whom Labour, never urged to toil,?Hath cherished on a healthful soil;?Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;?Whose heaviest sin it is to look?Askance upon her pretty self?Reflected in some crystal brook;?Whom grief hath spared,--who sheds no tear?But in sweet pity; and can hear?Another's praise from envy clear.
The Three Cottage Girls.
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,?A Traveller between life and death;?The reason firm, the temperate will,?Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;?A perfect Woman, nobly planned,?To warn, to comfort, and command;?And yet a Spirit still, and bright?With something of angelic light.
A Phantom of Delight.
She was happy,?Like a spirit of air she moved,?Wayward, yet by all who knew her?For her tender heart beloved.
The Westmoreland Girl.
This light-hearted Maiden....?High is her aim as Heaven above,?And wide as either her good-will;?And, like the lowly reed, her love?Can drink its nurture from the scantiest rill;?Insight as keen as frosty star?Is to her charity no bar,?Nor interrupts her frolic graces.
The Triad.
O Lady bright,?Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined?By favouring Nature, and a saintly mind,?To something purer and more exquisite?Than flesh and blood!
Sonnet.
A maid whom there wore none to praise?And very few to love;?A violet by a mossy stone?Half hidden from the eye!?Fair as a star when only one?Is shining in the sky.
Poems of the Affections, 8.
Whether in the semblance drest?Of Dawn, or Eve, fair vision of the west,?Come with each anxious hope subdued,?By woman's gentle fortitude,?Each grief, through weakness, settling into rest.
The Triad.
How rich that forehead's calm expanse!?How bright that heaven-directed glance!
Poems of the Affections, 17.
Softly she treads, as if her foot were loth?To crush the mountain dew-drops,--soon to melt?On the flower's breast; as if she felt?That flowers themselves, whate'er their hue,?With all their fragrance, all their glistening,?Call to the heart for inward listening.
The Triad.
Let other bards of angels sing,?Bright suns without a spot;?But thou art no such perfect thing;?Rejoice that thou art not!
Heed not though none should call thee fair;?So, Mary, let it be?If naught in loveliness compare?With what thou art to me.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats,?Whose veil is unremoved?Till heart to heart in concord beats,?And the lover is beloved.
Poems of the Affections, 15.
What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine,?Through my very heart they shine;?And, if my brow gives back their light,?Do thou look gladly on the sight;?As the clear moon with modest pride?Beholds her own bright beams?Reflected from the mountain's side?And from the headlong streams.
Poems of the Affections, 18.
How beautiful when up a lofty height?Honour ascends.

A Widow ...
She wasted no complaint, but strove to make
A just repayment, both for conscience's sake
And that herself and hers should stand upright
In the world's eye.
The Widow.
The Maiden grew?Pious and pure, modest and yet so brave,?Though young, so wise, though meek, so resolute.
Grace Darling.
In her face and mien?The soul's pure brightness he beheld,?Without a veil between.
The Russian Fugitive.
We her discretion have observed,?Her just opinions, delicate reserve,?Her patience, and humility of mind.?Unspoiled by commendation....
The Borderers.
O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne!?Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit?Beside an unambitious hearth to sit?Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown;?What living man could fear?The worst of Fortune's malice, wert thou near,?Humbling that lily-stem, thy sceptre meek,?That its fair flowers may from his cheek?Brush the too happy tear!
The Triad.
Queen, and handmaid lowly!?Whose skill