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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117615" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Woman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are who lightly speak with scornful smiles,<br>Of woman's faith, of woman's artful wiles;<br>Who call her false in heart, and weak in mind,<br>The slave of fashion, and to reason blind.<br>She may be such among the gilded bowers,<br>Where changing follies serve to waste the hours—<br>But bear her from the giddy world afar,<br>And place her lonely, like the evening star,<br>And with as bright, as pure, as calm a beam,<br>Her milder virtues will serenely gleam:<br>Go, place her by the couch of pale disease,<br>And bid her give the feverish pulses ease—<br>Say, will she not the task unmurmuring bear,<br>To soothe the anguish'd brow with tender care—<br>To trim the midnight lamp, and from her eye,<br>Though dim with watching, bid soft slumber fly—<br>With lightly whisper'd voice, and noiseless tread,<br>Glide, like an angel, round the sick man's bed—<br>With tireless patience watch the speaking eye,<br>And all unask'd his slightest wants supply?<br>It is not hers to guide the storm of war,<br>To rule the state, or thunder at the bar—<br>It is not hers to captivate the heart<br>With potent eloquence, resistless art—<br>To sit with men in legislative hall,<br>To govern realms, or mark their rise and fall;<br>These things are not for her. 't is woman's care<br>Alone, to rear the shoots that flourish there—<br>To list the lisping voice, with joy refined,<br>To watch the first unfolding of the mind,<br>The springing dawn of intellectual day,<br>The brighter beam of reason's perfect ray;<br>To wipe the starting tear from childhood's eye,<br>To soothe his little woes, and balms apply,<br>To drink of science’ fount, that she may store<br>His opening mind with all her gather'd lore;<br>To guard his morals with unceasing care,<br>And bend, for him, the suppliant knee in prayer.<br>Then give him, in his full and perfect worth,<br>To serve the land that smiled upon his birth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such woman is—and shall proud man forbear,<br>The converse of the mind with her to share?<br>No! she with him shall knowledge’ pages scan,<br>And be the partner, not the toy, of man!<br>When smit with angry fortune's adverse gale,<br>E'en his stern spirit seems at length to quail—<br>When all his hopes are wreck'd, his health has flown,<br>And strangers claim the land he calls his own:<br>When friends who flatter'd ‘neath the summer sky,<br>With brow estranged, his alter'd fortunes fly,<br>Then, woman, it is thine, with changeless heart,<br>In all his wretchedness to bear a part:<br>To quit the scenes thy smiles could once illume,<br>And sink with him to poverty and gloom;<br>To soothe his sorrows, calm his aching head,<br>And hang in speechless fondness o'er his bed,<br>His woes, his wants, his sufferings to share,<br>Thine alter'd lot without one plaint to bear;<br>To lock thy silent sorrows in thy breast,<br>And smile, as thou wert wont, in days more blest;<br>His steps to follow to earth's farthest verge,<br>O'er icy mount, or ocean's foaming surge;<br>With hopes of better days his heart to cheer,<br>And with thy smile, to shed the first fond tear.<br>Such changeless faith is woman's—constant still,<br>Through each reversing scene of good and ill.<br>When man is crush'd by storms that o'er him roll,<br>Then rises woman's timid, shrinking soul:<br>Pain, peril, want, she fearlessly will bear,<br>To dash from man the cup of dark despair;<br>And only asks for all her tireless zeal,<br>To share his fate—whate'er he feels, to feel—<br>To breathe in his fond arms her latest breath,<br>And murmur out the loved one's name in death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Margaret+Chandler">Elizabeth Margaret Chandler</a> from <i>Poetical Works</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117615" data-title="Woman de Elizabeth Margaret Chandler" data-description="There are who lightly speak with scornful smiles,/Of woman's faith, of woman's artful wiles;/Who call her false in heart, and weak in mind,/The slave of fashion, and to reason blind./She may be such among the gilded bowers,/Where changing follies ..."></div>
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