You could write the words “woman’s faith” and “woman’s trust” in dust, on running water, or on a pale moonbeam, the poem insists—and those fleeting letters would still outlast the loyalty they stand for. That wry, exaggerated comparison sets the tone. The speaker then drops the impersonal mask and confesses he has balanced a spider’s thread against a girl’s promise, weighed a grain of sand against her pledge of heart and hand; fragile as they are, even these outweighed her word. He showed her the proof of her broken vow, she swore again, and by nightfall he believed her once more. The mood is bitterly playful, a man mocking his own helplessness. He knows perfectly well that her promises are weightless, yet he cannot resist trusting them. It’s a compact portrait of heartbreak and the irrational hope that feeds it.
The Truth of Woman — Summary
Woman's faith, and woman's trust - Write the characters in the dust; Stamp them on the running stream, Print them on the moon's pale beam, And each evanescent letter Shall be clearer, firmer, better, And more permanent, I ween, Than the thing those letters mean.
I have strain'd the spider's thread 'Gainst the promise of a maid; I have weigh'd a grain of sand 'Gainst her plight of heart and hand; I told my true love of the token, How her faith proved light, and her word was broken: Again her word and truth she plight, And I believed them again ere night.