A Woman's Shortcomings
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he has laughed as softly as if she sighed,She has counted six, and over,Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried -Oh, each a worthy lover!They "give her time"; for her soul must slipWhere the world has set the grooving;She will lie to none with her fair red lip:But love seeks truer loving. She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,As her thoughts were beyond recalling;With a glance for one, and a glance for some,From her eyelids rising and falling;Speaks common words with a blushful air,Hears bold words, unreproving;But her silence says - what she never will swear -And love seeks better loving. Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,And drop a smile to the bringer;Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,At the voice of an in-door singer.Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes;Glance lightly, on their removing;And join new vows to old perjuries -But dare not call it loving! Unless you can think, when the song is done,No other is soft in the rhythm;Unless you can feel, when left by One,That all men else go with him;Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath,That your beauty itself wants proving;Unless you can swear "For life, for death!" -Oh, fear to call it loving! Unless you can muse in a crowd all dayOn the absent face that fixed you;Unless you can love, as the angels may,With the breadth of heaven betwixt you;Unless you can dream that his faith is fast,Through behoving and unbehoving;Unless you can die when the dream is past -Oh, never call it loving!
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