A Woman's Answer

I will not let you say a Woman's partMust be to give exclusive love alone;Dearest, although I love you so, my heartAnswers a thousand claims beside your own.

I love--what do I not love? earth and airFind space within my heart, and myriad thingsYou would not deign to heed, are cherished there,And vibrate on its very inmost strings.

I love the summer with her ebb and flowOf light, and warmth, and music that have nurstHer tender buds to blossoms . . . and you knowIt was in summer that I saw you first.

I love the winter dearly too, . . . but thenI 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 nightsI gazed at them, when you were far from me,Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lightsCould watch you, whom I longed in vain to see.

I love the Flowers; happy hours lieShut up within their petals close and fast:You have forgotten, dear: but they and IKeep every fragment of the golden Past.

I love, too, to be loved; all loving praiseSeems like a crown upon my Life,--to makeIt better worth the giving, and to raiseStill nearer to your own the heart you take.

I love all good and noble souls;--I heardOne speak of you but lately, and for daysOnly to think of it, my soul was stirredIn tender memory of such generous praise.

I love all those who love you; all who oweComfort to you: and I can find regretEven 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 spareLove for all these? Do I not even holdMy favourite books in special tender care,And prize them as a miser does his gold?

The Poets that you used to read to meWhile 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 beforeI loved so many things?--Still you the best:-Dearest, remember that I love you more,Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest!