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Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860–1935) In Duty Bound In duty bound, a life hemmed in Whichever way the spirit turns to look; No chance of breaking out, except by sin; Not even room to shirk— Simply to live, and work. An obligation pre-imposed, unsought, Yet binding with the force of natural law; The pressure of antagonistic thought; Aching within, each hour, A sense of wasting power. A house with roof so darkly low The heavy rafters shut the sunlight out; One cannot stand erect without a blow; Until the soul inside Cries for a grave—more wide. A consciousness that if this thing endure, The common joys of life will dull the pain; The high ideals of the grand and pure Die, as of course they must, Of long disuse and rust. That is the worst. It takes supernal strength To hold the attitude that brings the pain; And they are few indeed but stoop at length To something less than best, To find, in stooping, rest. ...

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