I would have been as great as George Eliot <br />But for an untoward fate. <br />For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, <br />Chin resting on hand, and deep-set eyes -- <br />Gray, too, and far-searching. <br />But there was the old, old problem: <br />Should it be celibacy, matrimony or unchastity? <br />Then John Slack, the rich druggist, wooed me, <br />Luring me with the promise of leisure for my novel, <br />And I married him, giving birth to eight children, <br />And had no time to write. <br />It was all over with me, anyway, <br />When I ran the needle in my hand <br />While washing the baby's things, <br />And died from lock-jaw, an ironical death. <br />Hear me, ambitious souls, <br />Sex is the curse of life.<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/margaret-fuller-slack/
