Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 601.  
    This little toe is tired,
    This little toe needs rocking, This little toe is sleepy you know,
  • 602.  
    Be not dismayed, be not dismayed when death
    Sets its white seal upon some worshipped face. Poor human nature for a little space
  • 603.  
    The saddest hour of anguish and of loss
    Is not that season of supreme despair When we can find no least light anywhere
  • 604.  
    Who knows the way to wonderland?
    Oh, I know, Oh, I know! Trotty-te-trot on mama's knee,
  • 605.  
    In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek,
    And in the pallor that succeeds it; by The quivering lid of an averted eye -
  • 606.  
    Whoever you are as you read this,
    Whatever your trouble or grief, I want you to know and to heed this:
  • 607.  
    As we journey along, with a laugh and a song,
    We see, on youthâ??s flower-decked slope, Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight,
  • 608.  
    Out over childhood's borders,
    Manhood's brave banners unfurled, Weighed down with precepts and orders
  • 609.  
    When I pass from earth away,
    Palsied though I be and gray, May my spirit keep so young
  • 610.  
    This little toe is hungry-
    This little toe is too, This toe lies abed like a sleepy head,
  • 611.  
    Uncle Rob says:
    Once the daisies all were white, Till a baby fellow
  • 612.  
    Though you see no banded army,
    Though you hear no cannons rattle, We are in a mighty contest,
  • 613.  
    And now, when poets are singing
    Their songs of olden days, And now, when the land is ringing
  • 614.  
    Life has its shadows, as well as its sun;
    Its lights and its shades, all twined together. I tried to single them out, one by one,
  • 615.  
    I, at Eleusis, saw the finest sight,
    When early morning's banners were unfurled.
  • 616.  
    Baby was playing and down he fell, down he fell, down he fell,
    Mama will kiss him and make him well, Oh! what a miracle this is!
  • 617.  
    Above the din of commerce, above the clamor and rattle
    Of labor disputing with riches, of Anarchists' threats and groans, Above the hurry and hustle and roar of that bloodless battle,
  • 618.  
    After the fierce midsummer all ablaze
    Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,
  • 619.  
    Why are thou sad, my Beppo? But last eve,
    Here at my feet, thy dear head on my breast, I heard thee say thy heart would no more grieve
  • 620.  
    There was a sound in the wind to-day,
    Like a joyous cymbal ringing! And the leaves of the trees talked with the breeze,
  • 621.  
    The times are not degenerate. Manâ??s faith
    Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed Can take from the immortal soul the need
  • 622.  
    Here in my office I sit and write
    Hour on hour, and day on day, With no one to speak to from morn till night,
  • 623.  
    We have scores of temperance men,
    Bold and earnest, brave and true, Fighting with the tongue and pen,
  • 624.  
    If all the year was summer-time,
    And all the aim of life Was just to lilt on like a rhyme â??
  • 625.  
    Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear,
    Your head like the golden-rod, And we will go sailing away from here
  • 626.  
    Methought a great wind swept across the earth,
    And all the toilers perished. Then I saw Pale terror blanch the rosy face of mirth,
  • 627.  
    In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes
    That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom, Which lies in the hearts of carnations and roses,
  • 628.  
    She waited in a rose-hued room;
    A wanton-hearted creature she, But beautiful and bright to see
  • 629.  
    An idle rhyme of the summer time,
    Sweet, and solemn, and tender; Fair with the haze of the moon's pale rays,
  • 630.  
    The subtle beauty of this day
    Hangs o'er me like a fairy spell, And care and grief have flown away,
  • 631.  
    To J. J. H., Of Kentucky

  • 632.  
    I saw the farmer, when the day was done,
    And the proud sun had sought his crimson bed, And the mild stars came forward one by one-
  • 633.  
    Beside an incubator stood
    The would-be mother of a brood.
  • 634.  
    She's the jauntiest of creatures, she's the daintiest of misses,
    With her pretty patent leathers or her alligator ties, With her eyes inviting glances and her lips inviting kisses,
  • 635.  
    I and new love, in all its living bloom,
    Sat vis-à-vis, while tender twilight hours Went softly by us, treading as on flowers.
  • 636.  
    This is the baby who doesn't do a thing,
    This is the lady who loves to wear a ring, This is their big sister, this is another,
  • 637.  
  • 638.  
    Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,
    Nor question that the tenor of my life, Past, present and the future, is revealed
  • 639.  
    I knew that a baby was hid in that house,
    Though I saw no cradle and heard no cry; But the husband was tip-toeing 'round like a mouse,
  • 640.  
    Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone.
    Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow? The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone
  • 641.  
    My love is young, so young;
    Young is her cheek, and her throat, And life is a song to be sung
  • 642.  
    We are the army stevedores, lusty and virile and strong,
    We are given the hardest work of the war, and the hours are long. We handle the heavy boxes, and shovel the dirty coal;
  • 643.  
    I know as my life grows older,
    And mine eyes have clearer sight, That under each rank of wrong, somewhere
  • 644.  
    Obscured the sun, the world is dark;
    Maid of Orleans, Joan of Arc, Send down thy spark.
  • 645.  
    There is nothing, I hold, in the way of work
    That a human being may not achieve If he does not falter, or shrink, or shirk,
  • 646.  
    Oh many a duel the world has seen
    That was bitter with hate, that was red with gore. But I sing of a duel by far more cruel
  • 647.  
    Some cawing Crows, a hooting Owl,
    A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl, One day all meet together
  • 648.  
    I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go;
  • 649.  
    The cunningest thing that a baby can do
    Is the very first time it plays peek-a-boo;
  • 650.  
    Each day that I live I am persuaded anew,
    A maxim I long have believed in, is true. Each day I grow firmer in this, my belief,
Total 702 poems written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poem of the day

Two Songs For Solitude: The Solitary
 by Sara Teasdale

Let them think I love them more than I do,
Let them think I care, though I go alone,
If it lifts their pride, what is it to me
Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone?

It is one to me that they come or go
If I have myself and the drive of my will,
And strength to climb on a summer night

Read complete poem

Popular Poets