The Beds of Fleur-de-Lys
HIGH-LYING, sea-blown stretches of green turf,
Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea,
Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky,
And, curving over them as long they lie,
Beds of wild fleur-de-lys.
Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far,
Breaking the green like islands in the sea;
Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend
Dwindling over the horizon’s end,—
Wild beds of fleur-de-lys.
The light keen wind streams on across the lifts,
Their wind of western springtime by the sea;
The close turf smiles unmoved, but over her
Is the far-flying rustle and sweet stir
In beds of fleur-de-lys.
And here and there across the smooth, low grass
Tall maidens wander, thinking of the sea;
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poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman
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The Socialist And The Suffragist
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
'My cause is greater than yours!
You only work for a Special Class,
We work for the gain of the General Mass,
Which every good ensures!'
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
'You underrate my Cause!
While women remain a Subject Class,
You never can move the General Mass,
With your Economic Laws!'
Said the Socialist to the Suffragist:
'You misinterpret facts!
There is no room for doubt or schism
In Economic Determinism–
It governs all our acts!'
Said the Suffragist to the Socialist:
'You men will always find
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poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman
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