Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 151.  
    Slipping away-slipping away!
    Out of our brief year slips the May;And Winter lingers, and Summer flies;
  • 152.  
    Of a thousand things that the Year snowed under-
    The busy Old Year who has gone away-How many will rise in the Spring, I wonder,
  • 153.  
    Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
    Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
  • 154.  
    Oh, an ugly thing is an iron rail,
    Black, with its face to the dust.But it carries a message where winged things fail;
  • 155.  

  • 156.  

  • 157.  
    All in the time when Earth did most deplore
    The cold, ungracious aspect of young May,Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;
  • 158.  
    Lie still and rest, in that serene repose
    That on this holy morning comes to thoseWho have been burdened with the cares which make
  • 159.  
    We walk on starry fields of white
    And do not see the daisies;For blessings common in our sight
  • 160.  
    I love the tropics, where sun and rain
    Go forth together, a joyous train,To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
  • 161.  
    They walked the valley of the dead;
    Lit by a weird half light;No sound they made, no word they said;
  • 162.  
    With brooding mien and sultry eyes,
    Outside the gates of ParadiseEve sat, and fed the faggot flame
  • 163.  
    In the banquet hall of Progress
    God has bidden to a feastAll the women in the East.
  • 164.  
    Thou Christ of mine, Thy gracious ear low bending
    Through these glad New Year days,To catch the countless prayers to heaven ascending-
  • 165.  
    Alone she sat with her accusing heart,
    That, like a restless comrade, frightened sleep,And every thought that found her left a dart
  • 166.  
    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.
  • 167.  
    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,
  • 168.  
    I held the golden vessel of my soul
    And prayed that God would fill it from on high.Day after day the importuning cry
  • 169.  
    Into the gloom of the deep, dark night,
    With panting breath and a startled scream;Swift as a bird in sudden flight
  • 170.  
    Born in the flesh, and bred in the bone,
    Some of us harbour stillA New World pride: and we flaunt or hide
  • 171.  
    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.
  • 172.  
    All roads that lead to God are good;
    What matters it, your faith, or mine; Both centre at the goal divine
  • 173.  
    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,
  • 174.  
    All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico
    I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago.
  • 175.  
    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,
  • 176.  
    ‘Oh life is wonderful,' she said,
    ‘And all my world is bright;Can Paradise show fairer skies,
  • 177.  
    I set out for the Land of Content,
    By the gay crowded pleasure-highway,With laughter, and jesting, I went
  • 178.  
    Now is the time when India is gay
    With wedding parties; and the radiant throngsSeem like a scattered rainbow taking part
  • 179.  
    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
  • 180.  
    A Tribute To The Policemen Of England's Capital

  • 181.  
    The Muse said, Let us sing a little song
    Wherein no hint of wrong,No echo of the great world need, or pain,
  • 182.  

  • 183.  
    In a land beyond sight or conceiving,
    In a land where no blight is, no wrong,No darkness, no graves, and no grieving,
  • 184.  
    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
  • 185.  
    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,
  • 186.  
    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,
  • 187.  
    Over and over the task was set,
    Over and over I slighted the work,But ever and alway I knew that yet
  • 188.  

  • 189.  
    Alone it stands in Poesy's fair land,
    A temple by the muses set apart; A perfect structure of consummate art,
  • 190.  

  • 191.  
    God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,
    Meant for the lordliest purposes; a partOf nature's full and fertile mother heart,
  • 192.  
    They met each other in the glade-
    She lifted up her eyes;Alack the day! Alack the maid!
  • 193.  
    There is a little Bungalow
    Perched on a granite ledge,And at its feet two suitors meet;
  • 194.  
    A modern hour from London (as we spin
    Into a silver thread the miles of spaceBetween us and our goal), there is a place
  • 195.  
    Oh, vain is the stern protesting
    Of winds, when the tide runs high;And vainly the deep-sea waters
  • 196.  
    There is a room serene and fair,
    All palpitant with light and air;Free from the dust, world's noise and fuss-
  • 197.  
    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,
  • 198.  
    Oh! by and by we shall hear the cry,
    ‘This is the way to Mars.'Come take a trip, on the morning Ship;
  • 199.  
    The Truth Teller lifts the curtain,
    And shows us the people's plight;And everything seems uncertain,
  • 200.  
    On a great cathedral window I have seen
    A Summer sunset swoon and sink away,Lost in the splendours of immortal art.
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

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