Ambition was an alien word, Which Mildred faintly understood; Its poisoned breathing had not blurred The whiteness of her womanhood,
Nor had its blatant trumpet stirred To quicker pulse her heart content. In social tasks and home employ, She did not question what it meant;
But bore her woman's lot with joy And sweetness, wheresoe'er she went. If ever with unconscious thrill It touched her, in some vagrant dream,
She only wished that God would fill With larger tide the goodly stream That flowed beside her, strong and still. She knew that love was more than fame,
And happy conscience more than love;— Far off and wild, the wings of flame! Close by, the pinions of the dove That hovered white above her name!
She honored Philip as a man, And joyed in his supreme estate; But never dreamed that under ban She lives who never can be great,
Or chieftain of a crowd or clan. The public eye was like a knife That pierced and plagued her shrinking heart. To be a woman, and a wife,
With privilege to dwell apart, And hold unseen her modest life — Alike from praise and blame aloof, And free to live and move in peace
Beneath love's consecrated roof — Was boon so great she could not cease Her thanks for the divine behoof. Black turns to brown and blue to blight
Beneath the blemish of the sun; And e'en the spotless robe of white, Worn overlong, grows dim and dun Through the strange alchemy of light.
Nor wives nor maidens, weak or brave, Can stand and face the public stare, And win the plaudits that they crave, And stem the hisses that they dare,
And modest truth and beauty save. No woman, in her soul, is she Who longs to poise above the roar Of motley multitudes, and be
The idol at whose feet they pour The wine of their idolatry. Coarse labor makes its doer coarse; Great burdens harden softest hands;
A gentle voice grows harsh and hoarse That warns and threatens and commands Beyond the measure of its force. Oh sweet, beyond all speech, to feel
Within no answer to the drum, Or echo to the bugle-peal, That calls to duties which benumb In service of the commonweal!
Oh sweet to feel, beyond all speech, That most and best of human kind Have leave to live beyond the reach Of toil that tarnishes, and find
No tongue but Envy's to impeach! Oh sweet, that most unnoticed deeds Give play to fine, heroic blood!— That hid from light, and shut from weeds,
The rose is fairer in its bud Than in the blossom that succeeds! He is the helpless slave who must; And she enfranchised who may sit
Unblamed above the din and dust, Where stronger hands and coarser wit Strive equally for crown and crust. So ran her thought, and broader yet,
Who scanned her own by Philip's pace; And never did the wife forget Her grateful tribute for the grace That charged her with so sweet a debt.
So ran her thought; and in her breast Her wifely pride to pity grew, That Philip, by his Lord's behest — To duty and to nature true —
Must do his bravest and his best. Through winter's cold and summer's heat, Where all might praise and all might blame, And thus be topic of the street,
And see his fair and honest name A football, kicked by careless feet. She loved her creed, and doubting not She read it well from Nature's scroll,
She found no line or word to blot; But, from her woman's modest soul, Thanked her Creator for her lot.
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