She waits for man, and leads him artfully—
In seeming freedom that beguiles his will—
Unto the great wheels grinding in her mill;
And with a voice of suasive melody,
Entreats him: "Lo! all gifts I proffer thee—
All joys that adolescent hopes fulfill,
All riches that the old may covet still—
So thou wilt bow thee down and worship me!"
But list'ning her, the spirit that would live
Must hear, from far, a nobler message sent:
Distrustful most where most she seeks to please,
Unsoftened by her luxury and ease,
Must hope through higher things to find content,—
Toiling for triumphs which she cannot give!