— Lady, there is a truth of settled laws That down the past burns like a great watch-fire.  Let youth hail changeful mornings; but your cause, Whetting its edge to cut the race in two, Is felony:  you forfeit the bright lyre, Much honour and much glory you!

     XVIII

— Sir, was it glory, was it honour, pride, And not as cat and serpent and poor slave, Wherewith we walked in union by your side?  Spare to false womanliness her delicacy, Or bid true manliness give ear, we crave:  In our defence thus chained are we.

     XIX

— Yours, madam, were the privileges of life Proper to man’s ideal; you were the mark Of action, and the banner in the strife:  Yea, of your very weakness once you drew The strength that sounds the wells, outflies the lark:  Wrapped in a robe of flame were you!

     XX

— Your friend looks thoughtful.  Sir, when we were chill, You clothed us warmly; all in honour! when We starved you fed us; all in honour still:  Oh, all in honour, ultra-honourably!  Deep is the gratitude we owe to men, For privileged indeed were we!

     XXI

— You cite exceptions, madam, that are sad, But come in the red struggle of our growth.  Alas, that I should have to say it! bad Is two-sexed upon earth:  this which you do, Shows animal impatience, mental sloth:  Man monstrous! pining seraphs you!

     XXII

— I fain would ask your friend . . . but I will ask You, sir, how if in place of numbers vague, Your sad exceptions were to break that mask They wear for your cool mind historically, And blaze like black lists of a present plague?  But in that light behold them we.

     XXIII

— Your spirit breathes a mist upon our world, Lady, and like a rain to pierce the roof And drench the bed where toil-tossed man lies curled In his hard-earned oblivion!  You are few, Scattered, ill-counselled, blinded:  for a proof, I have lived, and have known none like you.

     XXIV

— We may be blind to men, sir:  we embrace A future now beyond the fowler’s nets.  Though few, we hold a promise for the race That was not at our rising:  you are free To win brave mates; you lose but marionnettes.  He who’s for us, for him are we.

     XXV

— Ah! madam, were they puppets who withstood Youth’s cravings for adventure to preserve The dedicated ways of womanhood?  The light which leads us from the paths of rue, That light above us, never seen to swerve, Should be the home-lamp trimmed by you.

     XXVI

— Ah! sir, our worshipped posture we perchance Shall not abandon, though we see not how, Being to that lamp-post fixed, we may advance Beside our lords in any real degree, Unless we move:  and to advance is now A sovereign need, think more than we.

     XXVII