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.  

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

  • 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.  

  • 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

Christina Rossetti Poem
If A Mouse
 by Christina Rossetti

If a mouse could fly,
Or if a crow could swim,
Or if a sprat could walk and talk,
I'd like to be like him.

If a mouse could fly,
He might fly away;
Or if a crow could swim,

Read complete poem

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