<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384738" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Men</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sirs, when you pity us, I say<br>You waste your pity. Let it stay, <br>Well corked and stored upon your shelves, <br>Until you need it for yourselves.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We do appreciate God's thought<br>In forming you, before He brought <br>Us into life. His art was crude, <br>But oh, so virile in its rude</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Large elemental strength: and then<br>He learned His trade in making men; <br>Learned how to mix and mould the clay<br>And fashion in a finer way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How fine that skilful way can be<br>You need but lift your eyes to see; <br>And we are glad God placed you there<br>To lift your eyes and find us fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Apprentice labour though you were, <br>He made you great enough to stir<br>The best and deepest depths of us, <br>And we are glad he made you thus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ay! we are glad of many things.<br>God strung our hearts with such fine strings<br>The least breath movces them, and we hear<br>Music where silence greets your ear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We suffer so? but women's souls<br>Like violet powder dropped on coals, <br>Give forth their best in anguish. Oh, <br>The subtle secrets that we know, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of joy in sorrow, strange delights<br>Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights, <br>And mysteries of gain in loss<br>Known but to Christ upon the Cross! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our tears are pitiful to you? <br>Look how the heaven-reflecting dew<br>Dissolves its life in tears. The sand<br>Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How could your pity find a place<br>For us, the mothers of the race? <br>Men may be fathers unaware, <br>So poor the title is you wear, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But mothers -? Who that crown adorns<br>Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns; <br>And she whose feet that path hath trod<br>Has walked upon the heights with God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No, offer us not pity's cup.<br>There is no looking down or up<br>Between us: eye looks straight in eye: <br>Born equals, so we live and die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=384738" data-title="To Men de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="Sirs, when you pity us, I say You waste your pity. Let it stay, Well corked and stored upon your shelves, Until you need it for yourselves. We do appreciate God's thought In forming you, before He brought Us into life. His art was crude, But ..."></div> </div> </div>

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