They looked from farmhouse windows;
Their joyless faces showed
Between the curtain and the sill—
You saw them from the road.
They looked up while they churned and cooked
And washed and swept and sewed.
Some could die and some just lived and many a one went mad.
But it's “Mother, be up at four o'clock,” the men-folk bade.
They looked from town-house windows,
A shadow on the shade
Rose-touched by colorful depths of room
Where harmonies were made.
Within, the women went and came
And delicately played.
Some could grow and some could work, but many of them were dead.
“We must be gowned and gay tonight when the men come home,” they said.
They looked from factory windows
Where many an iron gin
Drew in their days and ground their days
On the black wheels within,
Drew in their days and wove their days
To a web exceeding thin.
And they suffered what women have suffered over and over again.
And it's “Double your speed for a living wage, ye mothers and wives of men!”
They looked from brothel windows
And caught the curtain down.
A piteous, beckoning hand thrust out
To summon or clod or clown.
They named them true, they named them true,
The Women of the Town.
Some could live and some just died and most of them none of us know.
And it's “What if the fallen women vote!” from the men who keep them so.
Faint from without the windows
In many a fallow land
There sounds a trample of feet, and a light
Is flashed from hand to hand.
And out of the dark grow a frightened few
Who dimly understand.
Some are wise and some are less and many more are in doubt.
But it's “This is death! And there lies life? We charge you to find it out!”
What is the news from the windows now?
At some the faces throng
And the cries: “Come soon or we wait in vain,
We who have waited long.”
From some a curious glance is flung
With the bars of a careless song.
Some are open and some are closed and some are hung for a feast,
And some stare blank as a harem wall curtained against the east.
Dear God, to watch the women look!
From task and game they turn,
Some are afraid of losing men
And some of what they earn,
Some light the sacrificial flame
And dare not watch it burn.
Some are scornful, some bar the door at the sound of the first alarms,
But it's “Mother, beware! It is we you chain!” And the babes leap in their arms.
All swift the cry comes down the world:
“Take task and take caress,
But, by our living spirits, we
Have other ways to bless.
Now let us teach the thing we've learned
In labor and loneliness.
We strive with none. We fold men home by the power of a great new word.
We who have long been dead are alive. We too are Thy people, Lord!”
Their joyless faces showed
Between the curtain and the sill—
You saw them from the road.
They looked up while they churned and cooked
And washed and swept and sewed.
Some could die and some just lived and many a one went mad.
But it's “Mother, be up at four o'clock,” the men-folk bade.
They looked from town-house windows,
A shadow on the shade
Rose-touched by colorful depths of room
Where harmonies were made.
Within, the women went and came
And delicately played.
Some could grow and some could work, but many of them were dead.
“We must be gowned and gay tonight when the men come home,” they said.
They looked from factory windows
Where many an iron gin
Drew in their days and ground their days
On the black wheels within,
Drew in their days and wove their days
To a web exceeding thin.
And they suffered what women have suffered over and over again.
And it's “Double your speed for a living wage, ye mothers and wives of men!”
They looked from brothel windows
And caught the curtain down.
A piteous, beckoning hand thrust out
To summon or clod or clown.
They named them true, they named them true,
The Women of the Town.
Some could live and some just died and most of them none of us know.
And it's “What if the fallen women vote!” from the men who keep them so.
Faint from without the windows
In many a fallow land
There sounds a trample of feet, and a light
Is flashed from hand to hand.
And out of the dark grow a frightened few
Who dimly understand.
Some are wise and some are less and many more are in doubt.
But it's “This is death! And there lies life? We charge you to find it out!”
What is the news from the windows now?
At some the faces throng
And the cries: “Come soon or we wait in vain,
We who have waited long.”
From some a curious glance is flung
With the bars of a careless song.
Some are open and some are closed and some are hung for a feast,
And some stare blank as a harem wall curtained against the east.
Dear God, to watch the women look!
From task and game they turn,
Some are afraid of losing men
And some of what they earn,
Some light the sacrificial flame
And dare not watch it burn.
Some are scornful, some bar the door at the sound of the first alarms,
But it's “Mother, beware! It is we you chain!” And the babes leap in their arms.
All swift the cry comes down the world:
“Take task and take caress,
But, by our living spirits, we
Have other ways to bless.
Now let us teach the thing we've learned
In labor and loneliness.
We strive with none. We fold men home by the power of a great new word.
We who have long been dead are alive. We too are Thy people, Lord!”