A Room of One's Own — Chapter 4

How are we fallen! fallen by mistaken rules,And Education's more than Nature's fools;Debarred from all improvements of the mind,And to be dull, expected and designed;And if someone would soar above the rest,With warmer fancy, and ambition pressed,So strong the opposing faction still appears,The hopes to thrive can ne'er outweigh the fears.

Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,Such a presumptuous creature is esteemed,The fault can by no virtue be redeemed.They tell us we mistake our sex and way;Good breeding, fashion, dancing, dressing, play,Are the accomplishments we should desire;To write, or read, or think, or to enquire,Would cloud our beauty, and exhaust our time,And interrupt the conquests of our prime,Whilst the dull manage of a servile houseIs held by some our utmost art and use.

To some few friends, and to thy sorrows sing,For groves of laurel thou wert never meant;Be dark enough thy shades, and be thou there content.

Nor will in fading silks compose,Faintly the inimitable rose.

Now the jonquille o'ercomes the feeble brain;We faint beneath the aromatic pain.

My lines decried, and my employment thoughtAn useless folly or presumptuous fault:

My hand delights to trace unusual things,And deviates from the known and common way,Nor will in fading silks compose,Faintly the inimitable rose.