She does not “languish in her bower”,
Or squander all the golden day
In fashioning a gaudy flower
Upon a worsted spray.
Nor is she quite content to wait
Behind her rose-wreathed lattice pane,
Until beside her father’s gate
The “gallant prince draws rein”.
The brave “New Woman” scorns to sigh,
And count it “such a grievous thing”
That year and year should hurry by,
And no gay mister bring.
In labor’s ranks she takes her place,
With skilful hand and cultured mind;
Not always foremost in the race,
But never far behind.
And no less lightly fall her feet,
Because they tread the busy ways;
She is no whit less fair or sweet
Than maids of older days,
Who gowned in samite or brocade,
Looked charming in their dainty guise:
But dwelt like violets in the shade,
With shy, half-opened eyes.
Of life she takes a clearer view,
And through the press serenely moves
Unfettered, free, with judgement true,
Avoiding narrow grooves.
She reasons and she understands,
And sometimes ’tis her joy and crown
To lift with strong, yet tender hands,
The burdens men lay down.
(Frederick Charles Burleigh Vosper)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Mind Poems, Place Poems, Courage Poems, Labor PoemsBased on Keywords: avoiding, grooves, samite, worsted, gowned, half-opened, rose-wreathed
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