Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WOMAN'S WAY, by CORA RANDALL FABBRI


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WOMAN'S WAY, by                    
First Line: Aye, that's our woman's way. We lean our faith
Last Line: Well, I'm a woman—and we're very weak ...
Subject(s): Women


AYE, that's our woman's way. We lean our faith
Upon one thing, which often proves too weak
And fails us. We are given overmuch
To trust our heart—whole heart—into one hand,
Which, growing weary, lets it drop, perhaps,
And then we pick it up and weep to find
That it is broken.
Were I only strong
(Which is to say, no woman), I would strip
From out my heart and out my reeling brain
The tortuous thought of him who proved so false,
As I have stript my finger of the ring
That means no more now than a band of gold.
If I were strong, I'd never go out at eve,
When all the fire-flies, like sparks of light
Dropped from the mystic burning stars, are out
And flitting low, and playing hide-and-seek
With pretty buds, and ev'ry breeze let loose
Is making havoc of the golden wheat;
I'd never go with hurried, stealthy tread
To where we stood together at the gate
One time—and not so very long ago—
To stand alone now—aye, that's sad—at least
It's sad to dream on the Impossible;
To stand and think with mournful eyes and lips,
More des'late, sure, than wet and easeful tears,
Upon the Past. Why, sometimes, I confess
The life-blood rushes backward on my heart,
As if to hush its throbbing—just because
I think I hear a step that sounds like his.
Oh yes! the best of us are only weak!

If I were strong, I'd brand his image, "false,"
And stamp it into powder 'neath my feet.
Instead, I've got it still—I've laid it by
With all his letters.
On drear winter nights,
When I am sitting by my lonely hearth,
I count them over, and I think how once
He sat so near me on that other chair
(Which I have left there still—because I'm weak)—
So near, our hands met. Just to break the still
That grows so mournful, I can hear my tears;
In low half-whispers I repeat sometimes
The sweet, fond love-names ever on our lips—
Elsewise I have forgotten how they sound.

If I were strong, and he should come to-night
And stand before me on the threshold there
With out-stretched hands, the love-light in his eyes
(That once I deemed unquenchable) relit;
The half smile on his lips I know so well—
If peradventure he should come (and I
Were strong, you understand), I'd fling my scorn
Into his face, and bid him go, and cry,
"I have forgot you and those blissful days—
I've bound my heart up—far off from your reach,
And all your love could never touch it now" ...
If I were strong! ...

... I think if he should come
And stand upon the threshold there some day,
And whisper once, "My wife"—no other word—
I think I'd say, "Come in; I've kept your place."

Well, I'm a woman—and we're very weak ...





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