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.
A few random poems:
- Invocation poem – Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Money, for a Decent Human Life without You by Mike Yuan
- The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur
- Cavalry Crossing a Ford. by Walt Whitman
- The Eve Of St. Agnes poem – John Keats poems
- Friend by Rabindranath Tagore
- An Ode to the Democratic Rat
- Thompson’s Lunch Room – Grand Central Station poem – Amy Lowell poems | Poems and Poetry
- Not Goo Hwome To-Night by William Barnes
- Владимир Высоцкий – День рождения лейтенанта милиции в ресторане “Берлин”
- Ballade Of The Dream poem – Andrew Lang poems
- For All We Have And Are by Rudyard Kipling
- Story of a Drunk by Violet Uram
- Владимир Британишский – А весна наступает все же
- Алишер Навои – Эти губы точно розы
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
- Федор Тютчев – Как верно здравый смысл народа
- Федор Тютчев – Как птичка, раннею зарей
- Федор Тютчев – Как он любил родные ели
- Федор Тютчев – Как ни тяжел последний час
- Федор Тютчев – Как ни бесилося злоречье
- Федор Тютчев – Как неожиданно и ярко
- Федор Тютчев – Как нас ни угнетай разлука
- Федор Тютчев – Как летней иногда порою
- Федор Тютчев – Как дымный столп светлеет в вышине
- Федор Тютчев – Как бестолковы числа эти
- Федор Тютчев – К портрету государственного канцлера, князя А.М. Горчакова
- Федор Тютчев – К Нисе
- Федор Тютчев – К Н.
- Федор Тютчев – Анненковой (D’une fille du Nord, chetive et languissante)
- Федор Тютчев – А. Н. М.
- Федор Тютчев – А.А. Фету (Тебе сердечный мой поклон)
- Федор Тютчев – 23 Fevrier 1861
- Федор Сваровский – Слава стране моей
- Федор Сваровский – Речь на юбилее
- Федор Сваровский – Путешественники во времени. свидетель зиндийского удара
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
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.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.