Okay, technically, it's not three a.m. It was that accursed hour four hours ago when I was up and thinking what delightfully witty post I could come up with for today. Then I got sidetracked by Netflix instant watch, and, whoa! look at the time. I'm somewhat wishing I had my morning back (Mainly so I could sleep through it). So, not actually coming up with something witty at three this morning, I have decided to cop out a bit. I will simply use a short poem entitled "Woman" by Eaton Stannard Barrett.
There really isn't that much to find about good ol' Eaton. Most of what is online is about his book The Heroine, which sounds rather delightful, and I do believe I must go out and find a copy. He was a satirist born in Ireland. Actually, the lines that are on Thomas Moore's daughter's headstone, which are usually attributed to Joseph Atkinson, are by Barrett. So I guess that gives me double points for tying two posts (and poets) together (sort of). I found "Woman" in the same Book of Irish Verse that I found "All That's Bright Must Fade".
Woman
Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung,
Not she denied Him with unholy tongue;
She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave,
Last at the cross and earliest at the grave.
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