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.     Canst thou not understand a nature strong         And passionate, with impulses that sway,         With yearning tenderness that must have way,     Yet knows no ill desire, no touch of wrong?         If thou canst not then in God's name I pray         See me no more forever from this day.