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THE PRINCESS;
Will leave her field to burgeon and to bloomFrom all within her, make herself her ownTo give or keep, to live and learn and beAll that not harms distinctive womanhood.For woman is not undevelopt man⟨But⟩ diverse: could we make her as the man,Sweet love were slain, whose dearest bond is thisNot like to like, but like in difference:Yet in the long years liker must they grow;The man be more of woman, she of man;He gain in sweetness and in moral height,Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world;She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care:More as the double-natured Poet each:Till at the last she set herself to man,Like perfect music unto noble words;And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time,Sit side by side, full-summ'd in all their powers,Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-be,Self-reverent each and reverencing each,
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