Yet, one great man's great love is far more sweet!
He is my proper mate as I am his—
You see my young dreams were not all in vain—
And I have tasted of ineffable bliss,
If I am stung at times with fiery pain.
It is not that I long to be a wife
By your Athenian laws, and sit at home
Behind a lattice, prisoner for life,
With my lord left at liberty to roam;
Nor is it that I crave the right to be
At the symposium or the Agora known;
My grievance is, that your proud dames to me
Came to be taught, in secret and alone.
They fear; what do they fear? is't me or you?
Am I not pure as any of them all?
But your laws are against me; and 'tis true,
If fame is lowering, I have had a fall!
O, selfish men of Athens, shall the world
Remember you, and pass my glory by?
Nay, 'til from their proud heights your names are hurled,
Mine shall blaze with them on your Grecian sky.
Am I then boastful? It is half in scorn
Of caring for your love, or for your praise,
As women do, and must. Had I been born
In this proud Athens, I had spent my days
In jealousy of boys, and stolen hours
With some Milesian, of a questioned place,
Learning of her the use of woman's powers
Usurped by men of this patrician race.
Alas! I would I were a child again,
Steeped in dream langours by the purple sea;
And Athens but the vision it was then,
Its great men good, its noble women free:
