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Augusta Davies Webster - Love`s Mourner
Work rating: Low

`Tis men who say that through all hurt and pain 
The woman`s love, wife`s, mother`s, still will hold, 
And breathes the sweeter and will more unfold 
For winds that tear it, and the sorrowful rain. 
So in a thousand voices has the strain 
Of this dear patient madness been retold, 
That men call woman`s love. Ah! they are bold, 
Naming for love that grief which does remain. 

Love faints that looks on baseness face to face: 
Love pardons all; but by the pardonings dies, 
With a fresh wound of each pierced through the breast. 
And there stand pityingly in Love`s void place 
Kindness of household wont familiar-wise, 
And faith to Love—faith to our dead at rest.
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