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Title: A Woman's Answer
Author: Adelaide Anne Procter [
More Titles by Procter]
I will not let you say a Woman's part
Must be to give exclusive love alone;
Dearest, although I love you so, my heart
Answers a thousand claims beside your own.
I love--what do I not love? earth and air
Find space within my heart, and myriad things
You would not deign to heed, are cherished there,
And vibrate on its very inmost strings.
I love the summer with her ebb and flow
Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst
Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know
It was in summer that I saw you first.
I love the winter dearly too, . . . but then
I owe it so much; on a winter's day,
Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again,
When you had been those weary months away.
I love the Stars like friends; so many nights
I gazed at them, when you were far from me,
Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lights
Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see.
I love the Flowers; happy hours lie
Shut up within their petals close and fast:
You have forgotten, dear: but they and I
Keep every fragment of the golden Past.
I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise
Seems like a crown upon my Life,--to make
It better worth the giving, and to raise
Still nearer to your own the heart you take.
I love all good and noble souls;--I heard
One speak of you but lately, and for days
Only to think of it, my soul was stirred
In tender memory of such generous praise.
I love all those who love you; all who owe
Comfort to you: and I can find regret
Even for those poorer hearts who once could know,
And once could love you, and can now forget.
Well, is my heart so narrow--I, who spare
Love for all these? Do I not even hold
My favourite books in special tender care,
And prize them as a miser does his gold?
The Poets that you used to read to me
While summer twilights faded in the sky;
But most of all I think Aurora Leigh,
Because--because--do you remember why?
Will you be jealous? Did you guess before
I loved so many things?--Still you the best:-
Dearest, remember that I love you more,
Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest!
[The end]
Adelaide Anne Procter's poem: Woman's Answer
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