“O woman well set free! how free am I,
How throughly free from kitchen drudgery!
Me stained and squalid ’mong my cooking-pots
My brutal husband ranked as even less
Than the sunshades he sits and weaves alway.

Purged now of all my former lust and hate,
I dwell, musing at ease beneath the shade
Of spreading boughs—O, but ’tis well with me!”