| Harriet Monroe, ed. (18601936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 191222. | | | | On Woman | | By William Butler Yeats |
| | | MAY God be praised for woman, | |
| That gives up all her mind! | |
| A man may find in no man | |
| A friendship of her kind, | |
| That covers all he has brought | 5 |
| As with her flesh and bone, | |
| Nor quarrels with a thought | |
| Because it is not her own. | |
| |
| Though pedantry denies, | |
| Its plain the Bible means | 10 |
| That Solomon grew wise | |
| While talking with his queens; | |
| Yet never could, although | |
| They say he counted grass, | |
| Count all the praises due | 15 |
| When Sheba was his lass, | |
| When she the iron wrought, or | |
| When from the smithy fire | |
| It shuddered in the water: | |
| Harshness of their desire | 20 |
| That made them stretch and yawn, | |
| Pleasure that comes with sleep, | |
| Shudder that made them one. | |
| |
| What else he give or keep | |
| God grant me(no, not here, | 25 |
| For I am not so bold | |
| To hope a thing so dear | |
| Now I am growing old; | |
| But when, if the tales true, | |
| The pestle of the moon, | 30 |
| That pounds up all anew, | |
| Brings me to birth again) | |
| To find what once I had | |
| And know what once I have known, | |
| Until I am driven mad, | 35 |
| Sleep driven from my bed, | |
| By tenderness and care, | |
| Pity an aching head, | |
| Gnashing of teeth, despair | |
| And all because of some one | 40 |
| Perverse creature of chance | |
| And live like Solomon | |
| That Sheba led a dance. | | | | |
|
|