Volume Iv Part 38 (2/2)

Mirth obscene diverts his anger--Doubt and Pity oft perplex Him in dealing with an issue--to the scandal of The s.e.x!

But the Woman that G.o.d gave him, every fibre of her frame Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same; And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail, The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast May not deal in doubt or pity--must not swerve for fact or jest.

These be purely male diversions--not in these her honor dwells.

She, the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate; And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions--in default of grosser ties; Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!-- He will meet no cool discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild, Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges--even so the she-bear fights; Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons--even so the cobra bites; Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw And the victim writhes in anguish--like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands To some G.o.d of Abstract Justice--which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that G.o.d gave him Must command but may not govern--shall enthral but not enslave him.

And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail, That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

Rudyard Kipling [1865-1936]

THE WOMAN WITH THE SERPENT'S TONGUE

She is not old, she is not young, The woman with the Serpent's Tongue, The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly, The famished face, the fevered hand,-- Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave, And blackens goodness in its grave.

In truthful numbers be she sung, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue; Concerning whom, Fame hints at things Told but in shrugs and whisperings: Ambitious from her natal hour, And scheming all her life for power; With little left of seemly pride; With venomed fangs she cannot hide; Who half makes love to you to-day,

To-morrow gives her guest away.

Burnt up within by that strange soul She cannot slake, or yet control: Malignant-lipped, unkind, unsweet; Past all example indiscreet; Hectic, and always overstrung,-- The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue.

To think that such as she can mar Names that among the n.o.blest are!

That hands like hers can touch the springs That move who knows what men and things?

That on her will their fates have hung!-- The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue.

William Watson [1858-1935]

SUPPOSE

How sad if, by some strange new law, All kisses scarred!

For she who is most beautiful Would be most marred.

And we might be surprised to see Some lovely wife Smooth-visaged, while a seeming prude Was marked for life.

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