EQUALITY.
A broad green stretch of woodland, Cut through by bridle paths,A traveller in the early morn, Brushing the dewy grass.A cottage in the shadow, Of a grand old drooping elm,A girl-face in the doorway, The wildrose sprays between.
Just a rosetint of the daylight, Shadowed the departing star,Just a mist of filmy vapor, O'er the birch-tops rising far.Faintest note of robin calling, To its mate within the wood,And the ring-dove's tender wooing, Ringing through the dewy glade.
Sweeter than the wood-bird's calling, Or the robin's note, there came,Floating through the open doorway, A song of love and blame.
