Thinking The Deed, And Not The Creed,

The Love Of Learning, The Sequestered Nooks, And All The Sweet Serenity Of Books.

The Country Is Not Priest-ridded, But Press-ridden.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

Sweet April! Many A Thought Is Wedded Unto Thee, As Hearts Are Wed; Nor Shall They Fail, Till, To Its Autumn Brought, Life's Golden Fruit Is Shed.

For It Is The Fate Of A Woman Long To Be Patient And Silent, To Wait Like A Ghost That Is Speechless, Till Some Questioning Voice Dissolves The Spell Of Its Silence. Hence Is The Inner Life Of So Many Suffering Women Sunless And Silent And Deep, Like Subterranean Rivers Runnng Through Caverns Of Darkness.