Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/50

 “I shield my own,” a manner pleasing, e’en When we are conscious that it does not mean More than a simple courtesy. A woman Whose heart is wholly feminine and human, And not unsexed by hobbies, likes to be The object of that tender chivalry, That guardianship which man bestows on her, Yet mixed with deference; as if she were Half child, half angel.

Though she may be strong, Noble and self-reliant, not afraid To raise her hand and voice against all wrong And all oppression, yet if she be made, With all the independence of her thought, A woman womanly, as God designed, Albeit she may have as great a mind As man, her brother, yet his strength of arm, His muscle and his boldness she has not, And cannot have without she loses what Is far more precious, modesty and grace. So, walking on in her appointed place, She does not strive to ape him, nor pretend But that she needs him for a guide and friend, To shield her with his greater strength from harm. We reached the forest; wandered to and fro Through many a winding path and dim retreat, Till I grew weary: when I chose a seat Upon an oak-tree, which had been laid low By some wind storm, or by some lightning stroke. And Roy stood just below me, where the ledge On which I sat sloped steeply to the edge Of sunny meadows lying at my feet. One hand held mine; the other grasped a limb That cast its checkered shadows over him; And, with his head thrown back, his dark eyes raised And fixed upon me, silently he gazed Until I, smiling, turned to him and spoke: “Give words, my cousin, to those thoughts that rise, And, like dumb spirits, look forth from your eyes.”

The smooth and even darkness of his cheek Was stained one moment by a flush of red. He swayed his lithe form nearer as he stood Still clinging to the branch above his head. His brilliant eyes grew darker; and he said,