Poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 251.  
    O mother who sips sweetened liquors!
    Look down at the child on your breast;Think, think of the rough path before him,
  • 252.  
    As the ambitious sculptor, tireless, lifts
    Chisel and hammer to the block at hand,Before my half-formed character I stand
  • 253.  
    â??Anticipation is sweeter than realisation.â??

  • 254.  
    The stork flew over a town one day,
    And back of each wing an infant lay; One to a rich manâ??s home he brought,
  • 255.  
    As I go and shop, sir!
    If a car I stop, sir! Where you chance to sit,
  • 256.  
    I think I hear the sound of horses' feet
    Beating upon the graveled avenue.Go to the window that looks on the street,
  • 257.  
    Wherefore in dreams are sorrows born anew,
    A healed wound opened, or the past revived? Last night in my deep sleep I dreamed of you â??
  • 258.  
    Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
    Framing white faces, oft-times young and fair,But, like a rose touched by untimely frost,
  • 259.  
    Once over the ocean in distant lands,
    In an age long past, were two hostile bands-Two armies of men, both brave, both strong,
  • 260.  
    For many long uninterrupted years
    She was the friend and confidant of Art; They walked together, heart communed with heart
  • 261.  
    I saw a Christian, a temperance man,
    Casting his ballot one day at the polls:One who believes he does what he can
  • 262.  
    The man of God stands, on the Sabbath-day,
    Warning the sinners from the broad highwayThat leads to death. He rolls his pious eye,
  • 263.  
    She sits beside the window. All who pass
    Turn once again to gaze on her sweet face.She is so fair; but soon, too soon, alas,
  • 264.  
    In the dawn of the day, when the sea and the earth
    Reflected the sunrise above, I set forth, with a heart full of courage and mirth,
  • 265.  
    One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand
    To tired little May.'Come, go with me to Wonderland,'
  • 266.  
    When from dawn till noon seems one long day,
    And from noon till night another,Oh, then should a little boy come from play,
  • 267.  
    'Tis not the untried soldier new to danger
    Who fears to enter into active strife.Amidst the roll of drums, the cannon's rattle,
  • 268.  
    I sit in the twilight dim
    At the close of an idle day, And I list to the soft sweet hymn,
  • 269.  
    Sirs, when you pity us, I say
    You waste your pity. Let it stay, Well corked and stored upon your shelves,
  • 270.  
    Every morning, as I walk down
    From my dreary lodgings, toward the town, I see at a window, near the street,
  • 271.  
    HERE AND NOW.

  • 272.  
    Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns,
    Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-dayWho will bring the longed-for close to the bloody fray, for those
  • 273.  
    I'd rather have my verses win
    A place in common people's hearts, Who, toiling through the strife and din
  • 274.  
    I am troubled to-night with a curious pain;

  • 275.  
    Our lives are songs. God writes the words,
    And we set them to music at pleasure;And the song grows glad, or sweet, or sad,
  • 276.  
    I will paint you a sign, rumseller,
    And hang it above your door;A truer and better signboard
  • 277.  
    Build on resolve, and not upon regret,
    The structure of thy future. Do not gropeAmong the shadows of old sins, but let
  • 278.  
    Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living
    Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall,And then with generous, open hands kneel, giving
  • 279.  
    I

  • 280.  
    The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing
    Or note enlivened the depressing wood, A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood
  • 281.  
    The beautiful and slender young New Moon,
    In trailing robes of pink and palest blue, Swept close to Venus, and breathed low: 'A boon,
  • 282.  
    Long have I searched, Cathedral shrine, and hall,
    To find a symbol, from the hand of art,That gave the full expression (not a part)
  • 283.  
    In the face of the sun are great thunderbolts hurled,
    And the storm-clouds have shut out its light;But a Rainbow of Promise now shines on the world,
  • 284.  
    Don't bring into the lodge-room
    Anger, and spite, and pride.Drop at the gate of the temple
  • 285.  
    How does Love speak?
    In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek, And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
  • 286.  
    Sometimes, when I am toil-worn and aweary,
    And tired out with working long and well, And earth is dark, and skies above are dreary,
  • 287.  
    'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?'
    'Yes, sir-yes, sir: three bags full.'
  • 288.  
    How baseless is the mightiest earthly pride,
    The diamond is but charcoal purified, The lordliest pearl that decks a monarchâ??s breast
  • 289.  
    When love is lost, the day sets towards the night,
    Albeit the morning sun may still be bright,And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky.
  • 290.  
    The winds came out of the west one day,
    And hurried the clouds before them; And drove the shadows and mists away,
  • 291.  
    Well, how has it been with you since we met
    That last strange time of a hundred times?When we met to swear that we could forgetâ??
  • 292.  
    Immortal life is something to be earned,
    By slow, self-conquest, comradeship with pain,And patient seeking after higher truths.
  • 293.  
    When you go away, my friend,
    When you say your last good-bye, Then the summer time will end,
  • 294.  
    Somewhere I've read a thoughtful mind's reflection:
    'All perfect things are three-fold'; and I knowOur love has the rare symbol of perfection;
  • 295.  
    In the dark night, from sweet refreshing sleep

  • 296.  
    Some day, when the golden glory
    Of June is over the earth, And the birds are singing together
  • 297.  
    I'm sick of 'musn'ts,' said Dorothy D.
    Sick of musn'ts, as I can be.From early dawn till the close of day
  • 298.  
    The pessimist locust, last to leaf,
    Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief.
  • 299.  
    There is a certain castle that is beautiful and fair,
    And plants, and birds, and pretty things, fill every room and hall,But alas! for the unhappy folks who make their dwelling there,
  • 300.  
    I know it is early morning,
    And hope is calling aloud, And your heart is afire with Youthâ??s desire
Total 702 poems written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poem of the day

A March Day In London
 by Amy Levy

The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,
Which chills the flesh to aches and pains,
And sends a fever through all the veins.

From end to end, with aimless feet,
...

Read complete poem

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