When from the field returning, Love is a warrior’s yearning, Love in his heart is burning, Love is his dream. Talk not to him of glory, Speak not of faces gory, Sing of love’s tender story, Make it thy theme. Sing of his lady’s tresses, Sing of the smile that blesses, Sing of the sweet caresses, And yet again Sing of fair children’s faces, Sing of the dear home graces, Sing till the vacant places, Ring with thy strain. Yet as the days go speeding, Shall he arise unheeding Love songs or words of pleading, Strong in his might! Helmet and armour wearing, Hies he to deeds of daring, Forth to the battle faring, Back to the fight. Sing now of ranks contending, Sing of loud voices blending, Sing of great warriors sending Death to their foes! Sing of war missiles humming, Strike into martial drumming, Sing of great victory coming, As forth he goes. Back to the battle faring, Back into deeds of daring, Back to the fight.
No less a lover but a greater man, A better warrior and a nobler king, I will be from this hour for thy dear sake.
God finished woman in the twilight hour And said, ‘To-morrow thou shalt find thy place: Man’s complement, the mother of the race— With love the motive power— The one compelling power.’
All night she dreamed and wondered. With the light Her lover came—and then she understood The purpose of her being. Life was good And all the world seemed right— And nothing was, but right.
She had no wish for any wider sway: By all the questions of the world unvexed, Supremely loving and superbly sexed, She passed upon her way— Her feminine fair way.
But God neglected, when He fashioned man, To fuse the molten splendour of his mind With that sixth sense He gave to womankind. And so He marred His plan— Ay, marred His own great plan.
She asked so little, and so much she gave, That man grew selfish: and she soon became, To God’s great sorrow and the whole world’s shame, Man’s sweet and patient slave— His uncomplaining slave.
Yet in the nights (oh! nights so dark and long) She clasped her little children to her breast And wept. And in her anguish of unrest She thought upon her wrong; She knew how great her wrong.
And one sad hour, she said unto her heart, ‘Since thou art cause of all my bitter pain, I bid thee abdicate the throne: let brain Rule now, and do his part— His masterful, strong part.’