Page:Gallienne Rubaiyat.djvu/48

 How sad to be a woman—not to know 

Aught of the glory of this breast of snow,

All unconcerned to comb this mighty hair; 

To be a woman and yet never know!

Were I a woman, I would all day long 

Sing my own beauty in some holy song,

Bend low before it, hushed and half afraid, 

And say "I am a woman" all day long.