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The Ideal Of Woman
by [?]


TO AMANDA.

Woman in everything yields to man; but in that which is highest,
Even the manliest man yields to the woman most weak.
But that highest,–what is it? The gentle radiance of triumph
As in thy brow upon me, beauteous Amanda, it beams.
When o’er the bright shining disk the clouds of affliction are fleeting,
Fairer the image appears, seen through the vapor of gold.
Man may think himself free! thou art so,–for thou never knowest
What is the meaning of choice,–know’st not necessity’s name.
That which thou givest, thou always givest wholly; but one art thou ever,
Even thy tenderest sound is thine harmonious self.
Youth everlasting dwells here, with fulness that never is exhausted,
And with the flower at once pluckest thou the ripe golden fruit.