human
Can you write me a poem about woman suffrage?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about woman suffrage:
  Father, what is a Legislature?
A representative body elected by the people of the state.
Are women people?
Do legislators legislate for nothing?
Oh, no; they are paid a salary.
By whom?
By the people.
Are women people?
Of course, my son, just as much as men are.
To the New York Tribune, in whose generous columns many of these
You're twenty-one to-day, Willie,
And a danger lurks at the door,
I've known about it always,
But I never spoke before;
When you were only a baby
It seemed so very remote,
But you're twenty-one to-day, Willie,
And old enough to vote.
You must not go to the polls, Willie,
Never go to the polls,
They're dark and dreadful places
Where many lose their souls;
They smirch, degrade and coarsen,
Terrible things they do
To quiet, elderly women--
What would they do to you!
If you've a boyish fancy
For any measure or man,
Tell me, and I'll tell Father,
He'll vote for it, if he can.
He casts my vote, and Louisa's,
And Sarah, and dear Aunt Clo;
Wouldn't you let him vote for you?
Father, who loves you so?
I've guarded you always, Willie,
Body and soul from harm;
I'll guard your faith and honor,
Your innocence and charm
From the polls and their evil spirits,
Politics, rum and pelf;
Do you think I'd send my only son
Where I would not go myself?
("I am opposed to woman suffrage, but I am not opposed to
woman."--_Anti-suffrage speech of Mr. Webb of North Carolina_.)
O women, have you heard the news
Of charity and grace?
Look, look, how joy and gratitude
Are beaming in my face!
For Mr. Webb is not opposed
To woman in her place!
O Mr. Webb, how kind you are
To let us live at all,
To let us light the kitchen range
And tidy up the hall;
To tolerate the female sex
In spite of Adam's fall.
O girls, suppose that Mr. Webb
Should alter his decree!
Suppose he were opposed to us--
What would be left for us to do--
Except to cease to be?
("The women of this smart capital are beautiful. Their beauty is
You, who despise the so-called fairer sex,
Be brave. There really isn't any reason
You should not, if you wish, oppose and vex
And scold us in, and even out of season;
But don't regard it as your bounden duty
To open with a tribute to our beauty.
Say if you like that women have no sense,
No self-control, no power of concentration;
Say that hysterics is our one defence
Our virtue but an absence of temptation;
These I can bear, but, oh, I own it rankles
To hear you maundering on about our ankles.
Tell those old stories, which have now and then
Been from the Record thoughtfully deleted,
Repeat that favorite one about the hen,
Repeat the ones that cannot be repeated;
But in the midst of such enjoyments, smother
The impulse to extol your "sainted mother."
Tell me immediately, where have you been?"
"I've been to ask all my slaves so devoted
Why they against my enfranchisement voted."
"Angel and princess, that action was wrong.
Back to the kitchen, where angels belong."
I am old-fashioned, and I think it right
That man should know, by Nature's laws eternal,
The proper way to rule, to earn, to fight,
And exercise those functions called paternal;
But even I a little bit rebel
At finding that he knows my job as well.
At least he's always ready to expound it,
Especially in legislative hall,
The joys, the cares, the halos that surround it,
"How women feel"--he knows that best of all.
In fact his thesis is that no one can
Know what is womanly except a man.
I am old-fashioned, and I am content
When he explains the world of art and science
And government--to him divinely sent--
I drink it in with ladylike compliance.
But cannot listen--no, I'm only human--
While he instructs me how to be a woman.
Lady, dangers lurk in boilers,
Risks I could not let you face.
Men were meant to be the toilers,
Home, you know, is woman's place.
Have no home? Well, is that so?
Still, it's not my fault, you know.
Charming lady, work no more;
Fair you are and sweet as honey;
Work might make your fingers sore,
And, besides, I need the money.
Prithee rest,--or starve or rob--
Only let me have your job!
My wife dislikes the income tax,
And so I cannot pay it;
She thinks that golf all interest lacks,
So now I never play it;
She is opposed to tolls repeal
(Though why I cannot say),
But woman's duty is to feel,
And man's is to obey.
I'm in a hard position for a perfect gentleman,
I want to please the ladies, but I don't see how I can,
My present wife's a suffragist, and counts on my support,
But my mother is an anti, of a rather biting sort;
One grandmother is on the fence, the other much opposed,
And my sister lives in Oregon, and thinks the question's closed;
Each one is counting on my vote to represent her view.
Now what should you think proper for a gentleman to do?
Let us not to an unrestricted day
Impediments admit. Work is not work
To our employés, but a merry play;
They do not ask the law's excuse to shirk.
Ah, no, the canning season is at hand,
When summer scents are on the air distilled,
When golden fruits are ripening in the land,
And silvery tins are gaping to be filled.
Now to the cannery with jocund mien
Before the dawn come women, girls and boys,
Whose weekly hours (a hundred and nineteen)
Seem all too short for their industrious joys.
If this be error and be proved, alas
The Thompson-Bewley bills may fail to pass!
Wise and just man--for such I think you are--
How can you see so burningly and clear
Injustices and tyrannies afar,
Yet blind your eyes to one that lies so near?
How can you plead so earnestly for men
Who fight their own fight with a bloody hand;
How hold their cause so wildly dear, and then
Forget the women of your native land?
With your stern ardor and your scholar's word
You speak to us of human liberty;
Can you believe that women are not stirred
By this same human longing to be free?
He who for liberty would strike a blow
Need not take arms, or fly to Mexico.
Home is where the husband is,
Be it near or be it far,
Office, theatre, Pullman car,
Poolroom, polls, or corner bar--
All good wives remember this--
Home is where the husband is.
Woman's place is home, I wis.
Leave your family bacon frying,
Leave your wash and dishes drying,
Leave your little children crying;
Join your husband, near or far,
At the club or corner bar,
For the court has taught us this:
"Home is where the husband is."
The Maiden's Vow
I will avoid equations,
And shun the naughty surd,
I must beware the perfect square,
Through it young girls have erred:
And when men mention Rule of Three
Pretend I have not heard.
Through Sturm's delightful theorems
Illicit joys assure,
Though permutations and combinations
My woman's heart allure,
I'll never study algebra,
But keep my spirit pure.
Who is it thinks the vote some use?
Man. (Man is often such a goose!)
Indeed it makes me laugh to see
How men have struggled to be free.
Poor Washington, who meant so well,
And L'Ouverture--remember him?
And some who threw away their youth,
All bitten by the stupid notion
That liberty was worth emotion.
They could not get it through their heads
That if they stayed tucked up in beds,
Avoiding politics and strife,
They'd lead a pleasant, peaceful life.
Let us, dear sisters, never make
Such a ridiculous mistake;
But teach our children o'er and o'er
That liberty is just a chore.
("No brass bands. No speeches. Instead a still, silent, effective
We are waging--can you doubt it?
A campaign so calm and still
No one knows a thing about it,
And we hope they never will.
No one knows
What we oppose,
And we hope they never will.
We are ladylike and quiet,
Here a whisper--there a hint;
Never speeches, bands or riot,
Nothing suitable for print.
No one knows
What we oppose,
For we never speak for print.
Sometimes in profound seclusion,
In some far (but homelike) spot,
We will make a dark allusion:
"We're opposed to you-know-what."
No one knows
What we oppose,
For we call it "You-Know-What."
("I hate a woman who is not a mystery to herself, as well as to
If you want a receipt for that popular mystery
Known to the world as a Woman of Charm,
Take all the conspicuous ladies of history,
Mix them all up without doing them harm.
The beauty of Helen, the warmth of Cleopatra,
Salome's notorious skill in the dance,
The dusky allure of the belles of Sumatra,
The fashion and finish of ladies from France.
The youth of Susanna, beloved by an elder,
The wit of a Chambers' incomparable minx,
The conjugal views of the patient Griselda,
The fire of Sappho, the calm of the Sphinx,
The eyes of La Vallière, the voice of Cordelia,
The musical gifts of the sainted Cecelia,
Madame de Staël and the matron Cornelia,
Iseult, Hypatia and naughty Nell Gwynn,
Take of these elements all that is fusible,
Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible,
Set 'em to simmer and take off the scum,
And a Woman of Charm is the residuum!
(Slightly adapted from W.S. Gilbert.)
Sylvia, my dear, I would be yours with pleasure,
All that you are seems excellent to me,
Except your mother, who's much more at leisure
Than mothers ought to be.
Find her a fad, a job, an occupation,
Eugenics, dancing, uplift, yes, or crime,
Set her to work for her Emancipation--
That takes a lot of time.
Or, if the suffrage doctrine fails to charm her,
There are the Antis--rather in her line--
Guarding the Home from Maine to Alabama
Would keep her out of mine.
Hush-a-bye, baby,
Feel no alarm,
Gunmen shall guard you,
Lest Mother should harm.
Wake in your cradle,
Hear father curse!
Isn't that better
_With apologies to James Whitcomb Riley_.
There, little girl, don't read,
You're fond of your books, I know,
But Brother might mope
If he had no hope
Of getting ahead of you.
It's dull for a boy who cannot lead.
There, little girl, don't read.
They must sacrifice their beauty
Who would do their civic duty,
Who the polling booth would enter,
Who the ballot box would use;
As they drop their ballots in it
Men and women in a minute,
Lose their charm, the antis tell us,
But--the men have less to lose.
Lady, lovely lady, come and share
All my care;
Oh how gladly I will hurry
To confide my every worry
(And they're very dark and drear)
In your ear.
Lady, share the praise I obtain
Now and again;
Though I'm shy, it doesn't matter,
I will tell you how they flatter:
Every compliment I'll share
Fair and square.
Lady, I my toil will divide
At your side;
I outside the home, you within;
You shall wash and cook and spin,
I'll provide the flax and food,
If you're good.
Partners, lady, we shall be,
You and me,
Partners in the highest sense
Looking for no recompense,
For, the savings that we make,
I shall take.
(The law compels a married woman to take the nationality of her
husband.)
Help us. Your country needs you;
Show that you love her,
Give her your men to fight,
Ay, even to fall;
The fair, free land of your birth,
Set nothing above her,
Not husband nor son,
She must come first of all.
What's this? You've wed an alien,
Yet you ask for legislation
To guard your nationality?
We're shocked at your demand.
A woman when she marries
Takes her husband's name and nation:
She should love her husband only.
What's a woman's native land?
_With apologies to Lord Tennyson._
Oh, that 'twere possible
After those words inane
For me to read _The Times_
Ever again!
When I was wont to read it
In the early morning hours,
In a mood 'twixt wrath and mirth,
I exclaimed: "Alas, Ye Powers,
These ideas are fainter, quainter
Than anything on earth!"
A paper's laid before me.
Not thou, not like to thee.
Dear me, if it were possible
_The Times_ should ever see
How very far the times have moved
(Spelt with a little "t").
Lovely Antiques, breathing in every line
The perfume of an age long passed away,
Wafting us back to 1829,
Museum pieces of a by-gone day,
You should not languish in the public press
Where modern thought might reach and do you harm,
And vulgar youth insult your hoariness,
Missing the flavor of your old world charm;
You should be locked, where rust cannot corrode
In some old rosewood cabinet, dimmed by age,
With silver-lustre, tortoise shell and Spode;
And all would cry, who read your yellowing page:
"Yes, that's the sort of thing that men believed
Before the First Reform Bill was conceived!"
Our Own Twelve Anti-suffragist Reasons
(_By the Children's Anti-School League_.)
educated.
government.
It then names thirteen subjects as unfit for the attention of
women--three of them are crimes committed against women.
Are the polls unfit for decent women?
No, sir, they are perfectly orderly.
Sometimes We're Ivy, and Sometimes We're Oak
Yes, it is true.
Is not woman's place the home?
No, not when men need her services outside the home.
Will she never be told again that her place is the home?
Oh, yes, indeed.
As soon as men want their jobs back again.
"Woman's place is in my home."--Appius Claudius.
"I have never felt the need of the ballot."--Cleopatra.
"Magna Charta merely fashionable fad of ye Barons."--King John.
Forty-three gentlemen voted against it.
Woman's place is the home, but under a special privilege she is
sometimes allowed to send her wages as a substitute.
If you have beauty, charm, refinement, tact,
If you can prove that should I set you free,
You would not contemplate the smallest act
That might annoy or interfere with me.
If you can show that women will abide
By the best standards of their womanhood--
(And I must be the person to decide
What in a woman is the highest good);
If you display efficiency supreme
In philanthropic work devoid of pay;
If you can show a clearly thought-out scheme
For bringing the millennium in a day:
Why, then, dear lady, at some time remote,
I might consider giving you the vote.
When men in Congress come to blows at something someone said,
I always notice that it shows their blood is quick and red;
But if two women disagree, with very little noise,
A heroine must shrink and cling
When heroes are about,
And thus the watching world will think:
"How brave his heart and stout!"
But if he chance to be away
When bright-faced dangers shine,
It will be best for her to play
The oak-tree, not the vine.
In fact the most important thing
Is knowing when it's time to cling.
_With apologies to R.L.S._
A heroine must be polite
And do what others say is right,
And think men wise and formidable--
At least as far as she is able.
"My dear," he said, "observe this frightful bill,
Run up, I think you'll own, against my will.
If you will recollect our wedding day
You vowed on that occasion to obey."
"I do recall the day," said she, "and how
Me with your worldly goods you did endow."
"That," he replied, "is palpably absurd----"
"You mean you did not mean to keep your word?"
"O, yes," he answered, "in a general way."
"And that," said she, "is how I meant obey."
Charm is a woman's strongest arm;
My charwoman is full of charm;
I chose her, not for strength of arm
But for her strange elusive charm.
And how tears heighten woman's powers!
My typist weeps for hours and hours:
I took her for her weeping powers--
They so delight my business hours.
A woman lives by intuition.
Though my accountant shuns addition
She has the rarest intuition.
(And I myself can do addition.)
Timidity in girls is nice.
My cook is so afraid of mice.
Now you'll admit it's very nice
To feel your cook's afraid of mice.
Democracy is this--to hold
That all who wander down the pike
In cart or car, on foot or bike,
Or male or female, young or old,
Are much alike--are much alike.
"Mother, what is a Feminist?"
"A Feminist, my daughter,
Is any woman now who cares
To think about her own affairs
As men don't think she oughter."
No, it isn't home neglecting
If you spend your time selecting
Seven blouses and a jacket and a hat;
Or to give your day to paying
Needless visits, or to playing
Auction bridge. What critic could object to that?
But to spend two precious hours
At a lecture! Oh, my powers,
The home is all a woman needs to learn.
And an hour, or a quarter,
Spent in voting! Why, my daughter,
You could not find your home on your return.
"Women, subject yourselves to men."
Nineteen-Eleven heard him quote:
"They rule the world without the vote."
By Nineteen-Twelve, he would submit
"When all the women wanted it."
By Nineteen-Thirteen, looking glum,
He said that it was bound to come.
This year I heard him say with pride:
"No reasons on the other side!"
By Nineteen-Fifteen, he'll insist
He's always been a suffragist.
And what is really stranger, too,
He'll think that what he says is true.
"Only the worst of them vote."
"Are not the suffragists frights?"
"Nietzsche's the person to quote."
"I prefer love to my rights."
"Are not the suffragists frights?"
"Sex is their only appeal."
"I prefer love to my rights."
"No, we don't think, but we feel."
"Sex is their only appeal."
"Woman belongs at the loom."
"No, we don't think, but we feel."
"Doesn't it rub off the bloom?"
"Woman belongs at the loom."
"Isn't the speaker a bore!"
"Doesn't it rub off the bloom?"
"Oh, it's a fad--nothing more."
"Isn't the speaker a bore!"
"Nietzsche's the person to quote."
"Oh, it's a fad--nothing more."
"Only the worst of them vote."
Oh, there you go again,
Invading man's domain!
It's Nature's laws, you know, you are defying.
Don't fancy that you can
Be really like a man,
So what's the use of all this fuss and trying?
It seems to me so clear,
That women's highest sphere
Is being loving wives and patient mothers.
Oh, can't you be content
To be as you were meant?
{souls
For {books belong to husbands and to brothers.
{votes
(_By an admirer of the late H.C. Bunner_.)
"I know what you're going to say," she said,
And she stood up, causing him some alarm;
"You're going to tell me I'll lose my charm,
And what is a woman when charm has fled?
And you're going to say that you greatly fear
I don't understand a woman's sphere;
Now aren't you honestly?" "Yes," he said.
"I know what you're going to say," she said,
"You're going to ask what I hope to gain
By stepping down to the dusty plain,
By seeking a stone when I might have bread;
You're going to say: 'Can a vote replace
The tender force of a woman's grace?'
Now, aren't you honestly?" "Yes," he said.
"I know what you're going to do," he said,
"You're going to talk to me all day long
Trying to make me see I'm wrong;
And other men who are less misled
Will pale with jealousy when they see
The time you give to converting me;
Now, aren't you honestly?" "Ye-es," she said.
"I don't pretend I'm clever," he remarked, "or very wise,"
Women are a contradiction--honorable and underhand--
Constant as the star Polaris, yet as changeable as Fate,
Always flying what they long for, always seeking what they hate."
That you take it personally--women always do," said he.
"You will pardon me for saying every woman is the same,
Always greedy for approval, always sensitive to blame;
"No, I don't admit they haven't," said the patient lady then,
"Or they could not sit and listen to the nonsense talked by men."
It's treating a woman politely
As long as she isn't a fright:
It's guarding the girls who act rightly,
If you can be judge of what's right;
It's being--not just, but so pleasant;
It's tipping while wages are low;
It's making a beautiful present,
And failing to pay what you owe.
"Chivalry, Chivalry, where have you been?"
"I've been out seeking a beautiful queen."
"Chivalry, Chivalry, what did you find?"
"Commonplace women, not much to my mind."
(_With rather insincere apologies to Mr. Rudyard Kipling_.)
I went to ask my government if they would set me free,
They gave a pardoned crook a vote, but hadn't one for me;
The men about me laughed and frowned and said: "Go home, because
We really can't be bothered when we're busy making laws."
Oh, it's women this, and women that and women have no sense,
But it's pay your taxes promptly when it comes to the expense,
It comes to the expense, my dears, it comes to the expense,
It's pay your taxes promptly when it comes to the expense.
I went into a factory to earn my daily bread:
Men said: "The home is woman's sphere." "I have no home," I said.
For it's women this and women that, and home's the place for you,
There's outside work to do, my dears, there's outside work to do,
We are not really senseless, and we are not angels, too,
But very human beings, human just as much as you.
It's hard upon occasions to be forceful and sublime
When you're treated as incompetents three-quarters of the time.
But it's women this and women that, and woman's like a hen,
But it's do the country's work alone, when war takes off the men,
But woman is observant, and be sure that woman sees.
In the days that are gone when a statue was wanted
In park or museum where statues must be,
A chivalrous male would come forward undaunted
And say: "If you must have one, make it of me.
Bad though they be, yet I'll agree
If you must make them, why make them of me."
But chivalry's dead, as I always expected
Since women would not let things stay as they were;
So now, I suppose, when a statue's erected
Men will say brutally: "Make it of her."
She may prefer things as they were
When they start making the statues of her.
Men are very brave, you know,
That was settled long ago;
Ask, however, if you doubt it,
Any man you meet about it;
He will say, I think, like me,
Men are brave as they can be.
Women think they're brave, you say?
Do they really? Well, they may,
But such biased attestation
Is not worth consideration,
For a legal judgment shelves
What they say about themselves.
From a Man's Point of View
Women love self-sacrifice
Suffering and good advice;
If they don't love these sincerely
Then they're not true women really.
Oh, it shocks me so to note
Women pleading for the vote!
Saying publicly it would
Educate and do them good.
Such a selfish reason trips
Oddly from a woman's lips.
But it must not be supposed
I am in the least opposed.
If they want it let them try it.
For I think we'll profit by it.
I went to see old Susan Gray,
Whose soldier sons had marched away,
And this is what she had to say:
"It isn't war I hate at all--
'Tis likely men must fight--
But, oh, these flags and uniforms,
It's them that isn't right!
If war must come, and come it does
To take our boys from play,
It isn't right to make it seem
So beautiful and gay."
I left old Susan with a sigh;
A famous band was marching by
To make men glad they had to die.
The young men said to their mother,
"Hear us, O dearest and best!
Time cannot cool or smother
The love of you in our breast;
Here is your place and no other--
Come home and rest."
And the mother's heart was grateful
For the love of her cherished ones,
And her labor, bitter and hateful,
She left at the word of her sons,
Till she heard far off the fateful
Voices of guns.
Their love did more enslave her;
They did not understand
That none could guard or save her
When war was on the land,
But herself, and God, who gave her
Heart and mind and hand.
Last year the shops were crowded
With soldier suits and guns--
The presents that at Christmas time
We give our little sons;
And many a glittering trumpet
And many a sword and drum;
But as they're made in Germany
This year they will not come.
Perhaps another season
We shall not give our boys
Such very warlike playthings,
Such military toys;
Perhaps another season
We shall not think it sweet
To watch their game of soldier men,
Who dream not of defeat.
And some militant girls of our own--
It would take a brave man and a dull one
To say to these ladies: "Of course
We adore you while meek,
Timid, clinging and weak,
But a woman can never use force."
A Lady's Choice
Her old love in tears and silence had been building her a palace
Ringed by moats and flanked with towers, he had set it on a hill
"Here," he said, "will come no whisper of the world's alarms and
malice,
As he spoke along the highway there came riding by a stranger,
For an instant on her features, he a fleeting glance bestowed,
(_About 465 years after Villon_.)
Tell me in what spot remote
Do the antis dwell to-day,
Those who did not want to vote,
Feared their sex's prompt decay?
Where are those who used to say:
"Home alone is woman's sphere;
Only those should vote who slay"?
Where the snows of yester-year?
Where are those who used to quote
Nietzsche's words in dread array?
Where the ancient crones who wrote:
"Women rule through Beauty's sway"?
And those lovers, where are they,
Who could hold no woman dear
If she had the ballot? Nay!
Where the snows of yester-year?
Prince, inquire no more, I pray,
Whither antis disappear.
Suffrage won; they melt away,
Like the snows of yester-year.
There are no homes in suffrage states,
There are no children, glad and good,
There, men no longer seek for mates,
And women lose their womanhood.
This I believe without debate,
And yet I ask--and ask in vain--
Why no one in a suffrage state
Has moved to change things back again?
Now please don't waste
Your time and ours
By pleas all based
On mental powers.
She seems to us
The proper stuff
Who has a hus-
Band bad enough.
All other pleas appear to us
Excessively superfluous.
My husband is not really bad----
How very sad, how very sad!
He's good, but hear my one excuse----
Oh, what's the use, oh, what's the use?
Last winter in a railroad wreck
He lost an arm and broke his neck.
He's doomed, but lingers day by day.
Her husband's doomed! Hurray! hurray!
My husband's kind and healthy, too----
Why, then, of course, you will not do.
Just hear me out. You'll find you're wrong.
It's true his body's good and strong;
But, ah, his wits are all astray.
Her husband's mad. Hip, hip, hurray!
My husband's wise and well--the creature!
Then you can never be a teacher.
Wait. For I led him such a life
He could not stand me as a wife;
Last Michaelmas, he ran away.
Her husband hates her, Hip, hurray!
Now we have found
Without a doubt,
By process sound
And well thought out,
Each candidate
Is fit in truth
To educate
The mind of youth.
No teacher need apply to us
Whose married life's harmonious.
votes."--Benjamin Franklin.
Macaulay's Speech on the Reform Bill.
"Universal suffrage prolongs in the United States the effect of
"I have listened to some very honest and eloquent orators whose