By Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1893)
I was climbing up a mountain-path
_ _With many things to do,
Important business of my own,
_ _And other people's too,
When I ran against a Prejudice
_ _That quite cut off the view.
My work was such as could not wait,
_ _My path quite clearly showed,
My strength and time were limited,
_ _I carried quite a load;
And there that hulking Prejudice
_ _Sat all across the road.
So I spoke to him politely,
_ _For he was huge and high,
And begged that he would move a bit
_ _And let me travel by.
He smiled, but as for moving!—
_ _He did n't even try.
And then I reasoned quietly
_ _With that colossal mule:
My time was short—no other path—
_ _The mountain winds were cool.
I argued like a Solomon;
_ _He sat there like a fool.
Then I flew into a passion,
_ _I danced and howled and swore.
I pelted and belabored him
_ _Till I was stiff and sore;
He got as mad as I did—
_ _But he sat there as before.
And then I begged him on my knees;
_ _I might be kneeling still
If so I hoped to move that mass
_ _Of obdurate ill-will—
As well invite the monument
_ _To vacate Bunker Hill!
So I sat before him helpless,
_ _In an ecstasy of woe—
The mountain mists were rising fast,
_ _The sun was sinking slow—
When a sudden inspiration came,
_ _As sudden winds do blow.
I took my hat, I took my stick,
_ _My load I settled fair,
I approached that awful incubus
_ _With an absent-minded air—
And I walked directly through him,
_ _ As if he was n't there!