With only passing Time for fate, Free of my friends, and cool without a mate. Then drive me through a silent land With the compelling of your open hand! There is too much of sound, too much for sight, In thundrous lightnings of this night, There is too much of freedom for my feet. Bruised by the stones of this disordered street. In silent fields, and in captivity. O Lover! I carried souls so long in pain, I too would be a child again.
See a Problem?
Man who is not child to woman Is either rogue or more than human. Man, are you strong to take my proffered hand, And to be kind when you command? There was a saint who carried children up a steep, Make me your child, and let me sleep. Like bat or mouse, If I please not the house's lord, For bed and board. I spend my days In dull sequestered ways, Without right to praise. My brain dies For want of exercise, I dare not speak. For I am weak. Twere better for my man and me. If I were free. Not to be done by, but to be.
But I am tied, Free movement is denied.sfplatformtziki.dev3.develag.com/440-to-spy.php
Why We Swim in Quarries
I am a man's wife For all my life! Then was my body justified, with love, And all such enterprise. When I conceived that good plan I made no feudal compact with my man, For in my body's service is not found A warrant that my will be always bound. Now, being mother, this I see I am thrice woman, and the soul of me Is herded to an end I never sought Like cow or sheep, and my desire is naught.
Who can my fuller need divine, From the curved symbol of my body's line? So for a simple accident of shape. Compass all ruin with my soul's rape. This is too rare a festival for joy, For a new thing is born of other labours. I will break an heirloom, shout and stamp for this victory. I will fling my freedom at the stars, And with a good conceit think so to shake the spheres.
Where is he? Life a load, the load a sorrow. Better not to be. Man I shall beget to-morrow, Non-existent?
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He is spread in fields of wheat. Low in grass that cows shall eat. There are fragments of himself High upon some warehouse shelf. Any atom he may be. Any atom may be he. She the focus will control, -- The new body, but the soul? That is free. The husk is made of any meat.
Her Quarry: Cultural Exotica
Any grass or any wheat. But man has personality; He alone is he, The man is I get to-morrow Whole in destiny.
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Can I then be free? Is it she who stays in a man's house for all her life? What is a wife? Shall it be said She who by contract shares a bed? Nor is it she, content with sequence from a cause, Who, like a field increase by just laws, And from a habit and with no end clear, Brings forth a child for every wedded year.
Wives are the dreaming mothers come again Who of blest fertile love bear souls of men!
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Sometimes, with kindly silence, sometimes with stinging speech Put a man's high attainment well within his reach. There is a Virgin-Mother, shrined in Christianity, There is a virgin wife in faiths to be, For the constructive form-inducing principle for life, Is she unknown, unnamed God's wife, Who out of crystal-bearing water drew the higher ape: — She might give even Socialism shape! In the days of bearing is my body weak, But why because I do you service, should you call me slave? I am a woman in my speech and gait, I have no beard I'll take no blame for that!
In many things are you and I apart. But there are regions where we coincide. Where law for one is law for both. There is the sexless part of me that is my mind. You calculate the distance of a star, I, thanks to this free age, can coimt as well, And by the very processes you use. When we think differently of two times two, I'll own a imiversal mastery in you!
Shall you rule all the houses of your choice Because of manhood or because of strength?
If I must own your manhood synonym for every strength, Then must I lie. I lose all, while nothing worthy is so gained by you, most blessed bond! Because of marriage, I have motherhood. That is much, and yet not all! By the same miracle that makes me mother Are you father. It is a double honour! Are you content to be from henceforth only father, And in no other way a man? A fantastic creature like a thing of dreams That has so great an eye it has no head.
My motherhood must boast some qualities, For as motherhood is diverse So shall men be many charactered And show variety, as this world needs. Shall I for ever brush my infant's hair?
Cumber his body in conceited needle-work? Or shall I save some pains till he is grown? Show him the consolation of mathematics And let him laugh with me when I am old? You would hold knowledge from me because I am a mother, Rather for this reason let me be wise, and very strong, — Power should be added to power. And now of love!
There is love, which is physiology, And love, which has no more matter in it than is in the mind. There is spiritual love, and there is good affection. All these loves women need, and most of all the last.
Kiss me sometimes in the light. Women have body's pain of body's love. Let me have flowers sometimes, and always joy.