Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 4. 14. Weal and Woe

O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul!
⁠     Thou holdest in the compass of thy grace
⁠     All the strange fate and passion of thy race;
⁠     Of the old, primal curse thou knowest the whole.
Thine eyes, too wise, are heavy with the dole,
     ⁠The doubt, the dread of all this human maze;
⁠     Thou in the virgin morning of thy days
⁠     Hast felt the bitter waters o'er thee roll.
Yet thou knowest, too, the terrible delight,
⁠     The still content, and solemn ecstasy;
     ⁠Whatever sharp, sweet bliss thy kind may know.
Thy spirit is deep for pleasure as for woe—
     ⁠Deep as the rich, dark-caverned, awful sea
⁠     That the keen-winded, glimmering dawn makes white.