To George Sand

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

　　Thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man,

　　Self-called George Sand! whose soul, amid the lions

　　Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance

　　And answers roar for roar, as spirits can:

　　I would some mild miraculous thunder ran

　　Above the applauded circus, in appliance

　　Of thine own nobler nature's strength and science,

　　Drawing two pinions, white as wings of swan,

　　From thy strong shoulders, to amaze the place

　　With holier light! that thou to woman's claim

　　And man's, mightst join beside the angel's grace

　　Of a pure genius sanctified from blame

　　Till child and maiden pressed to thine embrace

　　To kiss upon thy lips a stainless fame.

　　A Recognition

　　True genius, but true woman! dost deny

　　The woman's nature with a manly scorn,

　　And break away the gauds and armlets worn

　　By weaker women in captivity?

　　Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry

　　Is sobbed in by a woman's voice forlorn,-

　　Thy woman's hair, my sister, all unshorn

　　Floats back dishevelled strength in agony,

　　Disproving thy man's name: and while before

　　The world thou burnest in a poet-fire,

　　We see thy woman-heart beat evermore

　　Through the large flame. Beat purer, heart, and higher,

　　Till God unsex thee on the heavenly shore

　　Where unincarnate spirits purely aspire!