Women who
wrote back.

Do you blame me that I loved him?If when standing all aloneI cried for bread a careless worldPressed to my lips a stone.

Do you blame me that I loved him,That my heart beat glad and free,When he told me in the sweetest tonesHe loved but only me?

Can you blame me that I did not seeBeneath his burning kissThe serpent's wiles, nor even hearThe deadly adder hiss?

Can you blame me that my heart grew coldThe tempted, tempter turned;When he was feted and caressedAnd I was coldly spurned?

Would you blame him, when you draw from meYour dainty robes aside,If he with gilded baits should claimYour fairest as his bride?

Would you blame the world if it should pressOn him a civic crown;And see me struggling in the depthThen harshly press me down?

Crime has no sex and yet to-dayI wear the brand of shame;Whilst he amid the gay and proudStill bears an honored name.

Can you blame me if I've learned to thinkYour hate of vice a sham,When you so coldly crushed me downAnd then excused the man?

Would you blame me if to-morrowThe coroner should say,A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn,Has thrown her life away?

Yes, blame me for my downward course,But oh! remember well,Within your homes you press the handThat led me down to hell.

I'm glad God's ways are not our waysHe does not see as man;Within His love I know there's roomFor those whom others ban.

I think before His great white throne,His throne of spotless light,That whited sepulchres shall wearThe hue of endless night.

That I who fell, and he who sinned,Shall reap as we have sown;That each the burden of his lossMust bear and bear alone.

No golden weights can turn the scaleOf justice in His sight;And what is wrong in woman's lifeIn man's cannot be right.

I was a cottage maidenHardened by sun and air,Contented with my cottage mates,Not mindful I was fair.Why did a great lord find me out,And praise my flaxen hair?Why did a great lord find me outTo fill my heart with care?

He lured me to his palace home—Woe's me for joy thereof—To lead a shameless shameful life,His plaything and his love.He wore me like a silken knot,He changed me like a glove;So now I moan, an unclean thing,Who might have been a dove.

O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate,You grew more fair than I:He saw you at your father's gate,Chose you, and cast me by.He watched your steps along the lane,Your work among the rye;He lifted you from mean estateTo sit with him on high.

Because you were so good and pureHe bound you with his ring:The neighbours called you good and pure,Call me an outcast thing.Even so I sit and howl in dust,You sit in gold and sing:Now which of us has tenderer heart?You had the stronger wing.

O cousin Kate, my love was true,Your love was writ in sand:If he had fooled not me but you,If you stood where I stand,He'd not have won me with his loveNor bought me with his land;I would have spit into his faceAnd not have taken his hand.

Yet I've a gift you have not got,And seem not like to get:For all your clothes and wedding-ringI've little doubt you fret.My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,Cling closer, closer yet:Your father would give lands for oneTo wear his coronet.

ILove me, sweet, with all thou art,Feeling, thinking, seeing,—Love me in the lightest part,Love me in full being.

IILove me with thine open youthIn its frank surrender;With the vowing of thy mouth,With its silence tender.

IIILove me with thine azure eyes,Made for earnest granting!Taking colour from the skies,Can Heaven's truth be wanting?

IVLove me with their lids, that fallSnow-like at first meeting.Love me with thine heart, that allThe neighbours then see beating.

VLove me with thine hand stretched outFreely—open-mindedLove me with thy loitering foot,—Hearing one behind it.—

VILove me with thy voice, that turnsSudden faint above me;Love me with thy blush that burnsWhen I murmur, Love me!

VIILove me with thy thinking soul—Break it to love-sighing;Love me with thy thoughts that rollOn through living—dying.

VIIILove me in thy gorgeous airs,When the world has crowned thee!Love me, kneeling at thy prayers,With the angels round thee.

IXLove me pure, as musers do,Up the woodlands shady.Love me gaily, fast, and true,As a winsome lady.

XThrough all hopes that keep us brave,Further off or nigher,Love me for the house and grave,—And for something higher.

XIThus, if thou wilt prove me, dear,Woman's love no fable,I will love thee—half-a-year—As a man is able.