Classic Poem

Woman in the garden
Where the angels came;
Nothing yet of pardon,
Nothing yet of shame;
Seraphs in her honor
To the gates repair, —
O, the sun upon her!
O, the golden air!

Woman in the green ways, —
Young roots are sweet;
In and out the glean-ways,
Brown nuts at feet;
Planting, weaving, hoarding,
Saving from the wild,
Not for self or lording,
But for us — the child.

Woman in the tower;
Moat and wall to guard,
The rare, white lady-flower
Blooming for her lord,
Whose bright sword has won her
From all knights that ride;
His to serve and honor, —
An unfading bride!

Woman 'neath the master
Of the feudal day;
For the bread he cast her
Paying life away
To him, the mighty giver,
Him, her soul and god!
A sword for who would save her,
And for her the rod!

Now by fireside singing
Here at last is home;
Over ages winging
Again the angels come.
Holy love and human
In her worship rise.
O, the light on woman
Shed from children's eyes!

To the factories feeding
Hands and soul and will;
Herded, and unheeding
She is woman still.
Trembling home in gloom light,
Home — O mock of breath!
In her eyes the loom-blight,
In her shadow, death!

Sons must pass to battle;
Armor them with prayers;
Never conflict's rattle
Reach thy straining ears;
In the home they've made thee,
Mother, sit thee down;
With their love they'll shade thee,
With their fortune crown!

Be it or here or yonder,
Where'er thy children cry,
Far as thy fairest wander,
Far as thy dearest die, —
Be thine the heart that fareth
Past every dim frontier,
Till who the last rood dareth
Shall find a mother there!