Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 501.  
    Is it the world, or my eyes, that are sadder?
    I see not the grace that I used to seeIn the meadow-brook whose song was so glad, or
  • 502.  
    A changing medley of insistent sounds,
    Like broken airs, played on a Samisen,Pursues me, as the waves blot out the shore.
  • 503.  
    What can be said in New Year rhymes,
    That's not been said a thousand times?
  • 504.  
    Wherever the white man's feet have trod
    (Oh far does the white man stray)A bold road rifles the virginal sod,
  • 505.  
    Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated,
    Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified.Life holds no thing to be anticipated,
  • 506.  
    The voices of the city-merged and swelled
    Into a mighty dissonance of sound,And from the medley rose these broken strains
  • 507.  
    I am the voice of the voiceless;
    Through me the dumb shall speak;Till the deaf world's ear be made to hear
  • 508.  
    Man has explored all countries and all lands,
    And made his own the secrets of each clime.Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,
  • 509.  
    A vision beauteous as the morn,
    With heavenly eyes and tresses streaming,Slow glided o'er a field late shorn
  • 510.  
    There sat two glasses, filled to the brim,
    On a rich man's table, rim to rim.One was ruddy and red as blood,
  • 511.  
    On a great cathedral window I have seen
    A Summer sunset swoon and sink away,Lost in the splendours of immortal art.
  • 512.  
    The Truth Teller lifts the curtain,
    And shows us the people's plight;And everything seems uncertain,
  • 513.  
    Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry,
    ‘This is the way to Mars.'Come take a trip, on the morning Ship;
  • 514.  
    Sometimes I wish the railroads all were torn out,
    The ships all sunk among the coral strands.I am so very weary, yea, so worn out,
  • 515.  
    There is a room serene and fair,
    All palpitant with light and air;Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss-
  • 516.  
    Oh, vain is the stern protesting
    Of winds, when the tide runs high;And vainly the deep-sea waters
  • 517.  
    A modern hour from London (as we spin
    Into a silver thread the miles of spaceBetween us and our goal), there is a place
  • 518.  
    There is a little Bungalow
    Perched on a granite ledge,And at its feet two suitors meet;
  • 519.  
    They met each other in the glade-
    She lifted up her eyes;Alack the day! Alack the maid!
  • 520.  
    God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,
    Meant for the lordliest purposes; a partOf nature's full and fertile mother heart,
  • 521.  
    I

  • 522.  
    Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land,
    A temple by the muses set apart; A perfect structure of consummate art,
  • 523.  
    I

  • 524.  
    Over and over the task was set,
    Over and over I slighted the work,But ever and alway I knew that yet
  • 525.  
    Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish,
    Not they who, while sad years go by them, inThe sunless cells of lonely prisons languish,
  • 526.  
    If you listen you will hear, from east to west,
    Growing sounds of discontent and deep unrest.It is just the progress-driven plough of God,
  • 527.  
    Fling my past behind me, like a robe
    Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date.I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep
  • 528.  
    In a land beyond sight or conceiving,
    In a land where no blight is, no wrong,No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,
  • 529.  
    EXPLANATORY

  • 530.  
    The Muse said, Let us sing a little song
    Wherein no hint of wrong,No echo of the great world need, or pain,
  • 531.  
    A Tribute To The Policemen Of England's Capital

  • 532.  
    Somebody's baby was buried to-day-
    The empty white hearse from the grave rumbled back,And the morning somehow seemed less smiling and gay
  • 533.  
    Now is the time when India is gay
    With wedding parties; and the radiant throngsSeem like a scattered rainbow taking part
  • 534.  
    I set out for the Land of Content,
    By the gay crowded pleasure-highway,With laughter, and jesting, I went
  • 535.  
    ‘Oh life is wonderful,' she said,
    ‘And all my world is bright;Can Paradise show fairer skies,
  • 536.  
    I have listened to the sighing of the burdened and the bound,
    I have heard it change to crying, with a menace in the sound;I have seen the money-getters pass unheeding on the way,
  • 537.  
    All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico
    I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago.
  • 538.  
    A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest,
    Was hanging her head through the long golden hours;And early one morning I saw her tears falling,
  • 539.  
    All roads that lead to God are good;
    What matters it, your faith, or mine; Both centre at the goal divine
  • 540.  
    It may be that I dreamed a dream; it may be that I saw
    The forecast of a time to come by some supernal law.
  • 541.  
    Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone,
    Some of us harbour stillA New World pride: and we flaunt or hide
  • 542.  
    Into the gloom of the deep, dark night,
    With panting breath and a startled scream;Swift as a bird in sudden flight
  • 543.  
    I held the golden vessel of my soul
    And prayed that God would fill it from on high.Day after day the importuning cry
  • 544.  
    To build a house, with love for architect,
    Ranks first and foremost in the joys of life.And in a tiny cabin, shaped for two,
  • 545.  
    You may talk of reformations, of the Economic Plan,
    That shall stem the Social Evil in its course;But the Ancient Sin of nations, must be got at in THE MAN.
  • 546.  
    Alone she sat with her accusing heart,
    That, like a restless comrade, frightened sleep,And every thought that found her left a dart
  • 547.  
    Thou Christ of mine, Thy gracious ear low bending
    Through these glad New Year days,To catch the countless prayers to heaven ascending-
  • 548.  
    In the banquet hall of Progress
    God has bidden to a feastAll the women in the East.
  • 549.  
    With brooding mien and sultry eyes,
    Outside the gates of ParadiseEve sat, and fed the faggot flame
  • 550.  
    They walked the valley of the dead;
    Lit by a weird half light;No sound they made, no word they said;
Total 710 poems written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poem of the day

Don Marquis Poem
So Let Them Pass, These Songs Of Mine
 by Don Marquis

So let them pass, these songs of mine,
Into oblivion, nor repine;
Abandoned ruins of large schemes,
Dimmed lights adrift from nobler dreams,

Weak wings I sped on quests divine,
So let them pass, these songs of mine.
They soar, or sink ephemeral-
...

Read complete poem

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