This will the future bring.  See!  Thou hast given
      From out the fulness of thy strength and will
      This courage to me.  Though the rugged hill
    Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven
      (I see it when I sleep) with portals wide
      And shining towers, gleams on the farther side.

Song.

    “Tshirr!” scolds the oriole
      Where the elms stir,
    Flaunting her gourd-like nest
    On the tree’s swaying crest: 
    “May’s here, I cannot rest,
      Go away; tshirr!”

    “Tshirr!” scolds the oriole
      Where the leaves blur,
    Giving her threads a jerk,
    Spying where rivals lurk,
    “May’s here, and I’m at work. 
      Go away, tshirr!”

Misunderstanding.

    Spring’s face is wreathed in smiles.  She had been driven
      Hither and thither at the surly will
      Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill. 
    Into her grasp the sceptre has been given
      And now she touches with a proud young hand
      The earth, and turns to blossoms all the land.

    We catch the smile, the joyousness, the pride,
      And share them with her.  Surely winter gloom
      Is for the old, and frost is for the tomb. 
    Youth must have pleasure, and the tremulous tide
      Of sun-kissed waves, and all the golden fire
      Of Summer’s noontide splendor of desire.

    I have forgotten,—­for the breath of buds
      Is on my temples, if in former days
      I have known sorrow; I remember praise,
    And calm content, and joy’s great ocean-floods,
      And many dreams so sweet that, in their place,
      We would not welcome even Truth’s fair face.

    O Man to whom my heart hast leaned, dost know
      Aught of my life?  Sometimes a strong despair
      Enters my soul and finds a lodging there;
    Thou dost not know me, and the years will go
      As these last months have gone, and I shall be
      Still far, still a strange woman unto thee.

    I do not blame thee.  If there is a fault
      Let it be mine, for surely had I tried
      The door of my heart’s home to open wide
    No need had been for even Love’s assault. 
      And yet, methinks, somewhere there is a key
      Thou mightest have found, and entered happily.

    I am no saint niched in a hallowed wall
      For men to worship, but I would compel
      A level gaze.  You teachers who would tell
    A woman’s place I do defy you all! 
      While justice lives, and love with joy is crowned
      Woman and man must meet on equal ground.

    The deepest wrong is falsehood.  She who sells
      Her soul and body for a little gain
      In ease, or the world’s notice, has a stain
    Upon her soul no lighter for the bells
      Of marriage rites, and purer far is she
      Who gives her all for love’s sad ecstasy.