From the Rock Island Argus, October 5, 1912. By Duncan M. Smith. And this woman, soft of voice, Of whom the poets sung, Who in the ages long ago Was forced to hold her tongue. Good sooth but she is making up And paying back the debt Piled up through all those silent years! Behold the suffragette! Our mother sat around and smiled When men in meeting rose, And when they grandly aired their views Her tongue was in repose. But now the words so long suppressed No longer clog her throat. She fires them out with emphasis And says she wants a vote. No longer will she sit at ease And let him have his way About affairs of church and state, For she will have her say. For when there is a talking fest You find her in the swim, And oftentimes, to his dismay, She knows as much as him. Yes, woman, you have grown a bit And learned a lot of things. You fly as high as any one Since you have spread your wings. Is it for better or for worse? We can’t exactly say: But, though man is a little dazed, He likes you anyway.