'Now this is the message we give to you' (it was thus the she-bear spake): 'You the creatures of homes and shrines, and we of the wold and brake, We have no churches, we have no schools, and our minds you question and doubt, But we follow the laws which some Great Cause, alike for us all, laid out.

'We eat and we drink to live; we shun the things that poison and kill, And we settle the problems of s.e.x and birth by the law of the female will, For never was one of us known by a male, or made to mother its kind, Unless there went from our minds consent (or from what we call the mind).

'But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge yourselves at your feasts, And you smoke and drink in a way we think would lower the standard of beasts; For a ring, a roof and a rag, you are bought by your males, to have and to hold, And you mate and you breed without nature's need, while your hearts and your bodies are cold.

'All unwanted your offspring come, or you slay them before they are born; And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken and told their scorn.

We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe as you think--And still, Never one of us ate or drank the things that poison and kill, And never was one of us known by a male except by our wish and will.'

PROTEST

To sit in silence when we should protest Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance and l.u.s.t The Inquisition yet would serve the law And guillotines decide our least disputes.

The few who dare must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank G.o.d, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills, May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and child-bearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires.

Therefore do I protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land.

Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, Call no land free that holds one fettered slave.

Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee; Until the Mother bears no burden save The precious one beneath her heart; until G.o.d's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labour, let no man Call this the Land of Freedom.

A BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT

All that a man can say of woman's charms, Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms (A replica from that lost Melos mould), The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown With full intent to make their splendours known),

Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile), The (artful) artlessness of all your ways, Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile - All these have had my fond and frequent praise.

And something more than praise to you I gave - Something which made you know me as your slave.

Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel.

Here in this morning hour, from you apart, The mood is on me to be frank and tell The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart.

These thoughts are bitter--th.o.r.n.y plants, that grew Below the flowers of praise I plucked for you.

Those flowery praises led you to suppose You were my benefactor. Well, in truth, When lovely woman on dull man bestows Sweet favours of her beauty and her youth, He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet You robbed me while you placed me thus in debt.

I owe you for keen moments when you stirred My senses with your beauty, when your eyes (Your wanton eyes) belied the prudent word Your curled lips uttered. You are worldly wise, And while you like to set men's hearts on flame, You take no risks in that old pa.s.sion-game.

The carnal, common self of dual me Found pleasure in this danger play of yours.

(An egotist, man always thinks to be The victor, if his patience but endures, And holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire, Until the silly woman's heart takes fire.)

But now it is the Higher Self who speaks - The Me of me--the inner Man--the real - Whoever dreams his dream and ever seeks To bring to earth his beautiful ideal.

That lifelong dream with all its promised joy Your soft bedevilments have helped destroy.

Woman, how can I hope for happy life In days to come at my own nuptial hearth, When you who bear the honoured name of wife So lightly hold the dearest gifts of earth?

Descending from your pedestal, alas!

You shake the pedestals of all your cla.s.s.

A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief Who breaks into the temple of men's souls, And steals the golden vessels of belief, The swinging censers, and the incense bowls.

All women seem less loyal and less true, Less worthy of men's faith since I met you.

THE SUPERWOMAN

What will the superwoman be, of whom we sing - She who is coming over the dim border Of Far To-morrow, after earth's disorder Is tidied up by Time? What will she bring To make life better on tempestuous earth?

How will her worth Be greater than her forbears? What new power Within her being will burst into flower?

She will bring beauty, not the transient dower Of adolescence which departs with youth - But beauty based on knowledge of the truth Of its eternal message and the source Of all its potent force.

Her outer being by the inner thought Shall into lasting loveliness be wrought.

She will bring virtue; but it will not be The pale, white blossom of cold chast.i.ty Which hides a barren heart. She will be human - Not saint or angel, but the superwoman - Mother and mate and friend of superman.

She will bring strength to aid the larger Plan, Wisdom and strength and sweetness all combined, Drawn from the Cosmic Mind - Wisdom to act, strength to attain, And sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain.

She will bring that large virtue, self-control, And cherish it as her supremest treasure.

Not at the call of sense or for man's pleasure Will she invite from s.p.a.ce an embryo soul, To live on earth again in mortal fashion, Unless love stirs her with divinest pa.s.sion.

To motherhood she will bring common sense - That most uncommon virtue. She will give Love that is more than she-wolf violence (Which slaughters others that its own may live).

Love that will help each little tendril mind To grow and climb; Love that will know the lordliest use of Time In training human egos to be kind.

She will be formed to guide, but not to lead - Leaders are ever lonely--and her sphere Will be that of the comrade and the mate, Loved, loving, and with insight fine and clear, Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate, And to the leaders says, 'Proceed' or 'Wait.'

And best of all, she will bring holy faith To penetrate the shadowy world of death, And show the road beyond it, bright and broad, That leads straight up to G.o.d.

CERt.i.tUDE

There was a time when I was confident That G.o.d's stupendous mystery of birth Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent New ecstasy and glory to the earth.

I heard no voice that uttered it aloud, Nor was it written for me on a scroll; Yet, if alone or in the common crowd, I felt myself a consecrated soul.

My child leaped in its dark and silent room And cried, 'I am,' though all unheard by men.

So leaps my spirit in the body's gloom And cries, 'I live! I shall be born again.'

Elate with cert.i.tude towards death I go, Nor doubt, nor argue, since I know, I know!

COMPa.s.sION

He was a failure, and one day he died.

Across the border of the mapless land He found himself among a sad-eyed band Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried And missed their purpose. With one voice they cried Unto the shining Angel in command: 'Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand, For we are failures, failures! Let us hide.'