Introductory material

“Because precisely, I’m an artist, sir, And woman, if another sate in sight, I’d whisper,—Soft, my sister! not a word! By speaking we prove only we can speak, Which he, the man here, never doubted. What He doubts is, whether we can DO the thing With decent grace, we’ve not yet done at all. Now, do it; bring your statue,—you have room! He’ll see it even by the starlight here; And if ’tis e’er so little like the god Who looks out from the marble silently Along the track of his own shining dart Through the dusk of ages, there’s no need to speak; The universe shall henceforth speak for you, And witness, ‘She who did this thing, was born To do it,—claims her license in her work.’ And so with more works. Whoso cures the plague, Though twice a woman, shall be called a leech: Who rights a land’s finances is excused For touching copper, though her hands be white,— But we, we talk!” “It is the age’s mood” He said; “we boast, and do not.”