'T IS true, one half of woman's life is hope And one half resignation. Between there lies Anguish of broken dreams, -- doubt, dire surprise, And then is born the strength with all to cope. Unconsciously sublime, life's shadowed slope She braves; the knowledge in her patient eyes Of all that love bestows and love denies, As writ in every woman's horoscope! She lives, her heart-beats given to others' needs, Her hands, to lift for others on the way The burdens which their weariness forsook. She dies, an uncrowned doer of great deeds. Remembered? Yes, as is for one brief day The rose one leaves in some forgotten book. |