Poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

  • 401.  
    I see the tall church steeples,
    They reach so far, so far, But the eyes of my heart see the worldâ??s great mart,
  • 402.  
    Bohemia, o'er thy unatlassed borders
    How many cross, with half-reluctant feet, And unformed fears of dangers and disorders,
  • 403.  
    I may not reach the heights I seek, My untried strength may fail me;
  • 404.  
    I have been down in the darkest water-
    Deep, deep down where no light could pierce;Alone with the things that are bent on slaughter,
  • 405.  
    I am a river flowing from Godâ??s sea
    Through devious ways. He mapped my course for me; I cannot change it; mine alone the toil
  • 406.  
    Sing to me! Something of sunlight and bloom,
    I am so compassed with sorrow and gloom, I am so sick with the worldâ??s noisse and strife, -
  • 407.  
    Life is too short for any vain regretting;
    Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,And let us go upon our way forgetting
  • 408.  
    I care not who were vicious back of me,
    No shadow of their sins on me is shed.My will is greater than heredity.
  • 409.  
    The solemn Sea of Silence lies between us;

  • 410.  
    You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well,
    How could the hand be enemy of the arm, Or seed and sod be rivals! How could light
  • 411.  
    I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
    He was both tender and true;He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
  • 412.  
    Sometimes she seems so helpless and mild,
    So full of sweet unreason and so weak, So prone to some capricious whim or freak;
  • 413.  
    To Miss Eva Russell.
    The spring time is deaf to our pleading,The meadows are brown as can be.
  • 414.  
    One who claims that he knows about it
    Tells me the earth is a vale of sin;But I and the bees, and the birds we doubt it,
  • 415.  
    Smile a little, smile a little,
    As you go along, Not alone when life is pleasant,
  • 416.  
    The mighty forces of mysterious space
    Are one by one subdued by lordly man. The awful lightning that for eons ran
  • 417.  
    This is the way of it, wide world over,
    One is beloved, and one is the lover, One gives and the other receives.
  • 418.  
    Looking some papers over,
    Dusty and dim and old,I found some words that thrilled me
  • 419.  
    She must be honest, both in thought and deed,
    Of generous impulse, and above all greed; Not seeking praise, or place, or power, or pelf,
  • 420.  
    Heigh Ho! Well, the seasonâ??s over!
    Once again weâ??ve come to Lent! Programmeâ??s changes from balls and parties â??
  • 421.  
    One ship drives east and another drives west
    With the selfsame winds that blow.Tis the set of the sails
  • 422.  
    The queerest languages known to man,
    Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan,Are all translated and made as free
  • 423.  
  • 424.  
  • 425.  
  • 426.  
    Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet;
    A song I sang, full many a year ago, Smiled up at me, as in a busy street
  • 427.  
    Camouflage is all the rage.
    Ladies in their fight with age- Soldiers in their fight with foes-
  • 428.  
    Now who is ready to go with me
    Off and away to dream town? Oh, such a journey as that will be,
  • 429.  
    We love but once. The great gold orb of light
    From dawn to eventide doth cast his ray; But the full splendour of his perfect might
  • 430.  
    However the battle is ended,
    Though proudly the victor comes, With flaunting flags and neighing nags
  • 431.  
    Methinks ofttimes my heart is like some bee
    That goes forth through the summer day and sings, And gathers honey from all growing things
  • 432.  
    It seemeth such a little way to me
    Across to that strange country â?? the Beyond; And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be
  • 433.  
    Reply to Rudyard Kiplingâ??s â??He travels the fastest who travels alone.â??
    Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
  • 434.  
    Fire! Fire! Fire! the cry rang out on the night air,
    The roving winds caught it up, and the very heavens resounded. Louder and louder still, by voices grown hoarse with terror,
  • 435.  
    I said this morning, as I leaned and threw
    My shutters open to the Spring's surprise, 'Tell me, O Earth, how is it that in you
  • 436.  
    You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea:
    The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of lifeâ??s unrest
  • 437.  
    In the journey of life, as we travel along
    To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight, You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong,
  • 438.  
    I saw them sitting in the shade;
    The long green vines hung over, But could not hide the gold-haired maid
  • 439.  
    She rose up in the early dawn,
    And white and silently she moved About the house. Four men had gone
  • 440.  
    I gave a beggar from my little store
    Of well-earned gold. He spent the shining ore And came again, and yet again, still cold
  • 441.  
    Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays,
    Old times, old loves, old friendships, and old wine Why should the old monopolise all praise?
  • 442.  
    The God of the day has vanished,
    The light from the hills has fled, And the hand of an unseen artist
  • 443.  
    I strolled last eve across the lonely down;
    One solitary picture struck my eye: A distant ploughboy stood against the skyâ??
  • 444.  
    Once in the worldâ??s first prime,
    When nothing lived or stirred, Nothing but new-born Time,
  • 445.  
    Oh! that is a beautiful land, I wis,
    The land of the Gone-away Souls. Yes, a lovelier region by far than this
  • 446.  
    'Tis the song of the morning,
    The words of the sun, As he swings o'er the mountains:
  • 447.  
    Do you want to peep into Bedlam Town?
    Then come with me, when the day swings down, Into the cradle, whose rockers rim,
  • 448.  
    Seeking for happiness we must go slowly;
    The road leads not down avenues of haste; But often gently winds through by ways lowly,
  • 449.  
    When the soft sweet wind o' the south went by,
    I dwelt in the light of a dark brown eye; And out where the robin sang his song,
  • 450.  
    Uncle Rob says,
    That once on a time the fire flies Were stars with the others up in the skies.
Total 702 poems written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Poem of the day

 by James Macpherson

After an address to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, Ossian proceeds to relate his own expedition to Fuà¤rfed, an island of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuà¤rfed, being hard pressed in war by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronto (who had demanded in vain the daughter of Mal-orchol in marriage,) Fingal sent Ossian to his aid. Ossian, on the day after his arrival, came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him prisoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter, Oina-morul, to Ossian; but he, discovering her passion for Ton-thormod, generously surrenders her to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.

As flies the inconstant sun over Larmon's grassy hill so pass the tales of old along my soul by night! When bards are removed to their place, when harps are hung in Selma's hall, then comes a voice to Ossian, and awakes his soul! It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me with all their deeds! I seize the tales as they pass, and pour them forth in song. Nor a troubled stream is the song of the king, it is like the rising of music from Lutha of the strings. Lutha of many strings, not silent are thy streamy rocks, when the white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the shadowy thoughts that fly across my soul, daughter of Toscar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the song? We call back, maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled away! It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked Con-cathlin on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My course was towards the isle of Fuà¤rfed, woody dweller of seas! Fingal had sent me to the aid Mal-orchol, king of Fuà¤rfed wild: for war was around him, and our fathers had met at the feast.

In Col-coiled I bound my sails. I sent my sword to Mal-orchol of shells. He knew the signal of Albion, and his joy arose. He came from his own high hall, and seized my hand in grief. "Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king? Ton-thormod of many spears is the chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He saw and loved my daughter, white-bosomed Oina-morul. He sought. I denied the maid, for our fathers had been foes. He came with battle to Fuà¤rfed; my people are rolled away. Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king?"


Read complete poem

Popular Poets