A maiden meek, with solemn, steadfast eyes, <br />Full of eternal constancy and faith, <br />And smiling lips, through whose soft portal sighs <br />Truth's holy voice, with every balmy breath, <br />So journeys she along life's crowded way, <br />Keeping her soul's sweet counsel from all sight; <br />Nor pomp, nor vanity, lead her astray, <br />Nor aught that men call dazzling, fair, or bright: <br />For pity, sometimes, doth she pause, and stay <br />Those whom she meeteth mourning, for her heart <br />Knows well in suffering how to bear its part. <br />Patiently lives she through each dreary day, <br />Looking with little hope unto the morrow; <br />And still she walketh hand in hand with sorrow.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woman-s-love-3/
