I <br />Unarmed she goeth; yet her hands <br />Strike deeper awe than steel-caparison'd bands. <br />No fatal hurt of foe she fears,— <br />Veiled, as with mail, in mist of gentle tears. <br />II <br />'Gainst her thou canst not bar the door: <br />Like air she enters, where none dared before. <br />Even to the rich she can forgive <br />Their regal selfishness,—and let them live!<br /><br />George Parsons Lathrop<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/charity-17/
