Classic Poem

" H IPPOLITOS . "

O God , why hast Thou made this gleaming snare,
Woman, to dog us on the happy earth?
Was it thy will to make Man, why his birth
Thro Love and Woman? Could we not have rolled
Our store of prayer and offering, royal gold,
Silver and weight of bronze before thy feet,
And bought of God new child-souls, as were meet
For each man's sacrifice, and dwelt in homes
Free, where nor Love nor Woman goes and comes?
How, is that daughter not a bane confest
Whom her own sire sends forth — (He knows her best!)
And, will some man but take her, pays a dower.
And he, poor fool, takes home the poison-flower;
Laughs to hang jewels on the deadly thing
He joys in; labours for her robe-wearing,
Till wealth and peace are dead. He smarts the less
In whose high seat is set a Nothingness,
A woman not availing. Worst of all
The wise deep-thoughted! Never in my hall
May she sit throned who thinks and waits and sighs.
For Kypris breeds most evil in the wise,
And least in her whose heart has naught within;
For puny wit can work but puny sin.
Why do we let their handmaids pass the gate?
Wild beasts were best, voiceless and fanged, to wait
About their rooms, that they might speak with none,
Nor ever hear one answering human tone!