Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
   And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
   And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown. 
   But men must work, and women must weep,
   Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
      And the harbour bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
   In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
   For those who will never come home to the town;
   For men must work, and women must weep,
   And the sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep;
      And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

Eversley, June 25, 1851.

SONNET

Oh, thou hadst been a wife for Shakspeare’s self! 
No head, save some world-genius, ought to rest
Above the treasures of that perfect breast,
Or nightly draw fresh light from those keen stars
Through which thy soul awes ours:  yet thou art bound—­
O waste of nature!—­to a craven hound;
To shameless lust, and childish greed of pelf;
Athene to a Satyr:  was that link
Forged by The Father’s hand?  Man’s reason bars
The bans which God allowed.—­Ay, so we think: 
Forgetting, thou hadst weaker been, full blest,
   Than thus made strong by suffering; and more great
   In martyrdom, than throned as Caesar’s mate.

Eversley, 1851.

MARGARET TO DOLCINO

Ask if I love thee?  Oh, smiles cannot tell
Plainer what tears are now showing too well. 
Had I not loved thee, my sky had been clear: 
Had I not loved thee, I had not been here,
      Weeping by thee.

Ask if I love thee?  How else could I borrow
Pride from man’s slander, and strength from my sorrow? 
Laugh when they sneer at the fanatic’s bride,
Knowing no bliss, save to toil and abide
      Weeping by thee.

Andernach on the Rhine,
August 1851.

DOLCINO TO MARGARET

The world goes up and the world goes down,
   And the sunshine follows the rain;
And yesterday’s sneer and yesterday’s frown
   Can never come over again,
      Sweet wife: 
   No, never come over again.

For woman is warm though man be cold,
   And the night will hallow the day;
Till the heart which at even was weary and old
   Can rise in the morning gay,
      Sweet wife;
   To its work in the morning gay.

Andernach, 1851.

THE UGLY PRINCESS

My parents bow, and lead them forth,
   For all the crowd to see—­
Ah well! the people might not care
   To cheer a dwarf like me.

They little know how I could love,
   How I could plan and toil,
To swell those drudges’ scanty gains,
   Their mites of rye and oil.