I.

LET no man charge thee, woman if thou art,
And therefore pitiful, to veil thine eyes
From any naked truth whereof the cries
Reveal the anguish. Woman to the heart—
There be foul shames which for thy purer part
Appear through bleeding wounds in purple guise,
And at their aspect, showing in such wise,
No whitest angel of God's throne would start.

And more; if it be true that life terrene,
Mocking our hope, admits a depth obscene,
Wherein lost souls must fall to mend our ways;
Feed full that gulf of hell which is man's lust,
But rob not those its devotees; be just
Cheer its frail victims; give its martyrs praise!
II.

Sweet Christ! That there be men in virtue's name
And Thine, would levy on Thy 'poor' a toll
Whereof each fraction is a living soul
To drop in stygian depths of sin and shame.
O, vainly lost ones! If of our fair fame,
Our woman's peace and purity, the whole
Fierce chastisement is laid on you, your dole
Brands our white brows with more than answering blame.

From such salvation, turning in despair,
They well might sigh for cloistered days, who dare
Not walk without such guardians of the night!
God help the braver hearted to allay
The torments of these damned, until they may
Pluck from the rose of innocence this blight.
III.

And you, the queens who claim to reign in right
Of this foul wrong; you who from thought would spurn
Your hapless hostages; how do you earn
The service you so hardly would requite?
Have you emerged like stars from some dark night
Of ignorance, or compassed a return
From sin foredoomed? What wonders may we learn
From you of deadly hunger's conquered might?

Alas! on simpler plea your titles rest:
For these to float it needs that those must drown;
And you who ride upon the waves' high crest,
Whose thoughts are narrowed by your unearned crown,
How should it irk you if the partial frown
Of Him you worship, banned whom Jesus blest?