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Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman

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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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

[...] Read more

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