A Woman's Shortcomings
She
has
laughed
as
softly
as
if
she
sighed,
She
has
counted
six,
and
over,
Of
a
purse
well
filled,
and
a
heart
well
tried
-
Oh,
each
a
worthy
lover!
They
"give
her
time";
for
her
soul
must
slip
Where
the
world
has
set
the
grooving;
She
will
lie
to
none
with
her
fair
red
lip:
But
love
seeks
truer
loving.
She
trembles
her
fan
in
a
sweetness
dumb,
As
her
thoughts
were
beyond
recalling;
With
a
glance
for
one,
and
a
glance
for
some,
From
her
eyelids
rising
and
falling;
Speaks
common
words
with
a
blushful
air,
Hears
bold
words,
unreproving;
But
her
silence
says
-
what
she
never
will
swear
-
And
love
seeks
better
loving.
Go,
lady!
lean
to
the
night-guitar,
And
drop
a
smile
to
the
bringer;
Then
smile
as
sweetly,
when
he
is
far,
At
the
voice
of
an
in-door
singer.
Bask
tenderly
beneath
tender
eyes;
Glance
lightly,
on
their
removing;
And
join
new
vows
to
old
perjuries
-
But
dare
not
call
it
loving!
Unless
you
can
think,
when
the
song
is
done,
No
other
is
soft
in
the
rhythm;
Unless
you
can
feel,
when
left
by
One,
That
all
men
else
go
with
him;
Unless
you
can
know,
when
unpraised
by
his
breath,
That
your
beauty
itself
wants
proving;
Unless
you
can
swear
"For
life,
for
death!"
-
Oh,
fear
to
call
it
loving!
Unless
you
can
muse
in
a
crowd
all
day
On
the
absent
face
that
fixed
you;
Unless
you
can
love,
as
the
angels
may,
With
the
breadth
of
heaven
betwixt
you;
Unless
you
can
dream
that
his
faith
is
fast,
Through
behoving
and
unbehoving;
Unless
you
can
die
when
the
dream
is
past
-
Oh,
never
call
it
loving!
