Poems (Curwen)/Woman's lot
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Woman's Lot.
Heart of mine, O cease thy beating!
Silence, lips! his name repeating;
Throbbing pulse, be still! be still!
Rest, O brain! from weary thought,
Lest thou should'st be over-wrought,
Rest, or thought will kill.
O the bitterness, the pain,
Of love when it is given in vain:
How sad is woman's lot.
Her secret never may be told,
'Twould be unmaidenly and bold,
And man—he guesseth not.
And so Love lives and dies, concealed,
Because a woman's lips are sealed.
Silence, lips! his name repeating;
Throbbing pulse, be still! be still!
Rest, O brain! from weary thought,
Lest thou should'st be over-wrought,
Rest, or thought will kill.
O the bitterness, the pain,
Of love when it is given in vain:
How sad is woman's lot.
Her secret never may be told,
'Twould be unmaidenly and bold,
And man—he guesseth not.
And so Love lives and dies, concealed,
Because a woman's lips are sealed.