Sometimes she seems so helpless and mild, <br /> So full of sweet unreason and so weak, <br /> So prone to some capricious whim or freak; <br />Now gay, now tearful, and now anger-wild, <br />By her strange moods of waywardness beguiled <br /> And entertained, I stroke her pretty cheek, <br /> And soothing words of peace and comfort speak; <br />And love her as a father loves a child. <br /> <br />Sometimes when I am troubled and sore pressed <br /> On every side by fast advancing care, <br /> She rises up with such majestic air, <br />I deem her some Olympian goddess-guest, <br />Who brings my heart new courage, hope, and rest. <br /> In her brave eyes dwells balm for my despair, <br /> And then I seem, while fondly gazing there, <br />A loving child upon my mothers breast. <br /> <br />Again, when her warm veins are full of life, <br /> And youth’s volcanic tidal wave of fire <br /> Sends the swift mercury of her pulses higher, <br />Her beauty stirs my heart to maddening strife, <br />And all the tiger in my blood is rife; <br /> I love her with a lover’s fierce desire, <br /> And find in her my dream, complete, entire, <br />Child, Mother, Mistress – all in one word – Wife.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/three-and-one/
