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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


 Genius, a mans weapon, a womans burden.-Lamartine.

Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life
   Than to be burdened so that you can not
   Sit down contented with the common lot
Of happy mother and devoted wife.

To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife
   With all the seas commotion; to be fraught
   With fires and frenzies which you have not sought,
And weighed down with the wild worlds weary strife;

To feel a fever always in your breast;
   To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame,
   A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name;
To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest,
   And know, however great your meed of fame,
You are but a weak woman at the best.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
  1. The Birth of the Opal
  2. The Awakening (I love the tropics, where sun and rain)
  3. The Breaking of Chains
  4. The Chain
  5. The Coming Man

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