Katharine Tynan Hinkson (1861–1931)

GREAT passions I awake that must

Bow any woman to the dust

With fear lest she should fail to rise

As high as those enamoured eyes.

Now for these flying days and sweet

I sit in Beauty’s Mercy-Seat.

My smiles, my favours I award,

Since I am beautiful, adored.

They praise my cheeks, my lips, my eyes,

With Love’s most exquisite flatteries,

Covet my hands that they may kiss

And to their ardent bosoms press.

My foot upon the nursery stair

Makes them a music rich and rare;

My skirt that rustles as I come

For very rapture strikes them dumb.

What jealousies of word and glance!

The light of my poor countenance

Lights up their world that else were drear.

“But you are lovely, mother dear!”

I go not to my grave but I

Know Beauty’s full supremacy:

Like Cleopatra’s self, I prove

The very heights and depths of Love.

So to be loved, so to be wooed,

Oh, more than mortal woman should!

What if she fail or fall behind!

Lord, make me worthy, keep them blind!