Mates

It boots not to retrace the path

To ages dim and hoar,

When Man, at the domestic hearth,

First learned the art of war,

And-since in battle one must fall-

Held his defeated spouse in thrall,

That she should fight no more;

And thereby doomed to sleep and sloth

Strength that in action strengthened both.

It boots not when the better day

First showed a glint of morn,

Nor whose the eye that, in its ray,

Saw Woman’s chains outworn;

Nor which was first and which was last

When savage rivalry was past

And chivalry was born;

Enough for us that, free or pent,

Her primal treasure was misspent.

The waxing noontide sees them now

Joint sovereigns of the land,

No trace upon the gentler brow

Of the old helot brand.

Consenting that the right is right,

They walk as comrades-or they might-

For ever hand in hand.

Yet still a stronger leads and drags,

And still a weaker leans and lags.

Because we reap what we have sown,

And are as we were bred;

Because one passion, overgrown,

Since so long overfed,

Still works confusion to the scheme

Whereof both man and woman dream.

‘T’is the unnumbered dead

That laid it on him for a curse,

And her, its immemorial nurse.

But, with these tyrants in the dust,

Why should their ghosts hold sway?

Cut the long entail of their lust,

Heirs of a cleaner day!

Lift the dead hand from living mind,

Break the old spells that bind and blind,

O Woman, far astray!

And march with Man the open road

Without a fetter or a load.

Our pioneer brothers can discern

The sunlit heights around;

We, that should likewise look and learn,

Keep eyes upon the ground

And drug our feebleness with sweets

When needing tonic of strong meats;

And all our ways surround

With tangling trifles, gaud and toy,

That mock us with the name of joy.

What brains these fragile webs enmesh!

What soaring thought they tie!

What energies of soul and flesh

They still or stultify!

What wasted riches of the mind,

What wealth of genius, dumb and blind,

In shop and workroom lie,

While the great realms of life are stored

With such vast mystery unexplored!

Where were the sciences and arts

When men went plumed and curled?

Where were the brains, the hands, the hearts,

That now subdue the world-

The March of Progress, straight and true-

When men wore coats of every hue?

In childish swaddlings furled,

Their strength lay latent and unknown,

As ineffectual as our own.

Freed from this complicated coil

By mere vainglory spun,

Uprooted from this fruitless soil,

Unfed by rain or sun,

Where sleep the germs of noble deeds

In still unfructifying seeds,

Or leafage scarce begun-

This ash-heap or the poor and small

That chokes the greatness in us all-

Uplifted to the light-the place

Where Man his manhood found

When tyranny of silk and lace

No longer held him bound;

With eyes, from Fashion’s witchcraft clear,

For Beauty, simple and sincere,

And, unbeguiled by sound

Of siren wooings, quiet ears

For the high message that he hears:

The swelling call to loftier life

That, like a distant bell,

Chimes through the traffic and the strife

Of those who buy and sell;

Through camp and temple, field and street,

The market where we game and cheat,

The home wherein we dwell:-

Here should we stand, as strong, as free,

For splendid enterprise as he.

To him no flowering parasite

That only sucks and clings

To drain and enervate and blight,

But impulse to his wings;

His mate in passion, mate in power,

His soul’s wife, that for marriage dower

Exhaustless treasure brings-

The daily bread, the daily spur,

The day’s reward for him-and her.

Like woodland creatures, that have willed

To pair by Nature’s plan,

A woman finished and fulfilled

And a completed man;

To run together and abreast,

And side by side to fight or rest,

As when the world began;

Each bound to other, yet both free . . . .

It is not, but it ought to be.

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• The Land of the Exile by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Judge by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Journey by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Hero by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gift by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXXVIII: My Love, Once upon a Time by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXXIV: Do Not Go, My Love by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXVIII: Your Questioning Eyes by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXIV: Do Not Keep to Yourself by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXII: When She Passed by Me by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XXI: Why Did He Choose by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XX: Day After Day He Comes by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XVI: Hands Cling to Eyes by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLVIII: Free Me by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLV: To the Guests by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLIV: Reverend Sir, Forgive by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLIII: No, My Friends by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XLII: O Mad, Superbly Drunk by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore
• The Gardener XL: An Unbelieving Smile by Rabindranath Tagore by Rabindranath Tagore

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Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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