I NONE ever climbed to mountain height of song, But felt the touch of some good woman's palm; None ever reached God's altitude of calm, But heard one voice cry, "Follow!" from the throng. I would not place her as an image high Above my reach, cold, in some dim recess, Where never she should feel a warm caress Of this my hand that serves her till I die. I would not set her higher than my heart, -- Though she is nobler than I e'er can be, -- Because she placed me from the crowd apart, And with her tenderness she honored me. Because of this, I hold me worthier To be her kinsman, while I worship her. II A WOMAN'S hand. Lo, I am thankful now That with its touch I have walked all my days; Rising from fateful and forbidden ways, To find a woman's hand upon my brow, Soft as a pad of rose-leaves, and as pure As upraised palms of angels, seen in dreams: And soothed by it, to stand as it beseems A man who strives to conquer and endure. A woman's hand! -- There is no better thing Of all things human; it is half divine; It hath been more to this lame life of mine, When faith was weakness, and despair was king. Man more than all men, Thou wast glad to bless A woman's sacrifice and tenderness. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHER (MARGERY CARRUTH, 1896-1981) by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE FEAST OF LIGHTS by EMMA LAZARUS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELMER BARR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ISAIAH, JEREMIAH, EXEKIEL, DANIEL by MARIANNE MOORE THE FOUR BROTHERS by CARL SANDBURG THE UNDERGRADUATE KILLED IN BATTLE; OXFORD, 1915 by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE DIORAMA PAINTER AT THE MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY by KAREN SWENSON |