Charlotte Perkins Gilman

"Home" says the sweet voice, and warm Comfort rises, Holding my soul with velvet-fingered hands; Comfort of leafy lair and lapping fur, Soft couches, cushions, curtains, and the stir Of easy pleasures that the body prizes, Of soft, swift feet to serve the least commands. I shrink-half rise-and then it murmurs "Duty!" Again the past rolls out-a scroll unfurled; Allegiance and long labor due my lord Allegiance in an idleness abhorred- I am the squaw-the slave-the harem beauty- I serve and serve, the handmaid of the world. My soul rebels-but hark! a new note thrilling, Deep, deep, past finding-I protest no more; The voice says "Love!" and all those ages dim Stand glorified and justified in him; I bow-I kneel-the woman soul is willing- "Love is the law.
Be still! Obey! Adore!" And then-ah, then! The deep voice murmurs "Mother!" And all life answers from the primal sea; A mingling of all lullabies; a peace That asks no understanding; the release Of nature's holiest power-who seeks another? Home? Home is Mother-Mother, Home-to me. "Home!" says the deep voice; "Home and Easy Pleasure! Safety and Comfort, Laws of Life well kept!