From Felix Holt, the Radical

From ImmortalPoetry
Jump to navigationJump to search

by George Eliot

 Why, there are maidens of heroic touch
And yet they seem like things of gossamer
You'd pinch the life out of, as out of moths.
O, it is not fond tones and mouthingness,
'Tis not the arms akimbo and large strides,
That makes a woman's force. The tiniest birds,
With softest downy breasts, have passion in them,
And are brave with love.


Add your comment
ImmortalPoetry welcomes all comments. If you do not want to be anonymous, register or log in. It is free.