Ella Wheeler Wilcox – My Home

This is the place that I love the best,

A little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest,

Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees,

Summer retreat of the birds and bees.

The tenderest light that ever was seen

Sifts through the vine-made window screen--

Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls

On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls.

All through June the west wind free

The breath of clover brings to me.

All through the languid July day

I catch the scent of new-mown hay.

The morning-glories and scarlet vine

Over the doorway twist and twine;

And every day, when the house is still,

The humming-bird comes to the window-sill.

In the cunningest chamber under the sun

I sink to sleep when the day is done;

And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed,

By a singing bird on the roof o'erhead.

Better than treasures brought from Rome,

Are the living pictures I see at home--

My aged father, with frosted hair,

And mother's face, like a painting rare.

Far from the city's dust and heat,

I get but sounds and odors sweet.

Who can wonder I love to stay,

Week after week, here hidden away,

In this sly nook that I love the best--

This little brown house like a ground-bird's nest?

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – An Inspiration

However the battle is ended,

Though proudly the victor comes

With fluttering flags and prancing nags

And echoing roll of drums.

Still truth proclaims this motto,

In letters of living light, -

No Question is ever settled,

Until it is settled right.

Though the heel of the strong oppressor

May grind the weak to dust,

And the voices of fame with one acclaim

May call him great and just,

Let those who applaud take warning,

And keep this motto in sight, -

No question is ever settled

Until it is settled right.

Let those who have failed take courage;

Tho' the enemy seems to have won,

Tho' his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong

The battle is not yet done;

For, as sure as the morning follows

The darkest hour of the night,

No question is ever settled

Until it is settled right.

O man bowed down with labor!

O woman, young, yet old!

O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast

And crushed by the power of gold!

Keep on with your weary battle

Against triumphant might;

No question is ever settled

Until it is settled right.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – Change

Changed? Yes, I will confess it – I have changed.

I do not love you in the old fond way.

I am your friend still – time has not estranged

One kindly feeling of that vanished day.

But the bright glamour which made life a dream,

The rapture of that time, its sweet content,

Like visions of a sleeper’s brain they seem –

And yet I cannot tell you how they went.

Why do you gaze with such accusing eyes

Upon me, dear? It is so very strange

That hearts, like all things underneath God’s skies,

Should sometimes feel the influence of change?

The birds, the flowers, the foliage of the trees,

The stars which seem so fixed, and so sublime,

Vast continents, and the eternal seas, -

All these do change, with ever-changing time.

The face our mirror shows us year on year

Is not the same; our dearest aim, or need,

Our lightest thought, or feeling hope, or fear,

All, all the law of alternation heed.

How can we ask the human heart to stay,

Content with fancies of Youth’s earliest hours?

The year outgrows the violets of May,

Although, maybe, there are no fairer flowers.

And life may hold no sweeter love than this,

Which lies so cold, so voiceless, and so dumb,

And will I miss it, dear? Why, yes, we miss

The violets always – till the roses come!

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – A Song Of Life

In the rapture of life and of living,

I lift up my head and rejoice,

And I thank the great Giver for giving

The soul of my gladness a voice.

In the glow of the glorious weather,

In the sweet-scented, sensuous air,

My burdens seem light as a feather –

They are nothing to bear.

In the strength and the glory of power,

In the pride and the pleasure of wealth

(For who dares dispute me my dower

Of talents and youth-time and health?) ,

I can laugh at the world and its sages –

I am greater than seers who are sad,

For he is most wise in all ages

Who knows how to be glad.

I lift up my eyes to Apollo,

The god of the beautiful days,

And my spirit soars off like a swallow,

And is lost in the light of its rays.

Are tou troubled and sad? I beseech you

Come out of the shadows of strife –

Come out in the sun while I teach you

The secret of life.

Come out of the world – come above it –

Up over its crosses and graves,

Though the green earth is fair and I love it,

We must love it as masters, not slaves.

Come up where the dust never rises –

But only the perfume of flowers –

And your life shall be glad with surprises

Of beautiful hours.

Come up where the rare golden wine is

Apollo distills in my sight,

And your life shall be happy as mine is,

And as full of delight.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox – The Two Glasses

There sat two glasses, filled to the brim,

On a rich man's table, rim to rim.

One was ruddy and red as blood,

And one was clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to his paler brother,

"Let us tell tales of the past to each other;

I can tell of banquet, and revel, and mirth,

Where I was a king, for I ruled in might;

For the proudest and grandest souls on earth

Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.

From the heads of kings I have torn the crown;

From the heights of fame I have hurled men down.

I have blasted many an honored name;

I have taken virtue and given shame;

I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste,

That has made his future a barren waste.

Far greater than any king am I,

Or than any army beneath the sky.

I have made the arm of the driver fail,

And sent the train from the iron rail.

I have made good ships go down at sea,

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me.

Fame, strength, wealth, genius before me fall;

Ho, ho! pale brother," said the wine,

"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"

Said the water-glass: "I cannot boast

Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host,

But I can tell of hearts that were sad

By my crystal drops made bright and glad;

Of thirsts I have quenched, and brows I have laved;

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved.

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain,

Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the fountain.

I have burst my cloud-fetters, and dropped from the sky,

And everywhere gladdened the prospect and eye;

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain;

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain.

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,

That ground out the flower, and turned at my will.

I can tell of manhood debased by you,

That I have uplifted and crowned anew;

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;

I gladden the heart of man and maid;

I set the wine-chained captive free,

And all are better for knowing me."

These are the tales they told each other,

The glass of wine and its paler brother,

As they sat together, filled to the brim,

On a rich man's table, rim to rim.