Poetry Archives

(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.