Poems List

Her Last Letter

Her Last Letter

Sitting alone by the window,
Watching the moonlit street,
Bending my head to listen
To the well-known sound of your feet,
I have been wondering, darling,
How I can bear the pain,
When I watch, with sighs and tear-wet eyes;
And wait for your coming in vain.


For I know that a day approaches
When your heart will tire of me;
When by door and gate I may watch and wait
For a form I shall not see.
When the love that is now my heaven,
The kisses that make my life,
You will bestow on another,
And that other will be-your wife.


You will grow weary of sinning
(Though you do not call it so),
You will long for a love that is purer
Than the love that we two know.
God knows I have loved you dearly,
With a passion strong as true;
But you will grow tired and leave me,
Though I gave up all for you.


I was as pure as the morning
When I first looked on your face;
I knew I never could reach you
In your high, exalted place.
But I looked and loved and worshiped
As a flower might worship a star,
And your eyes shone down upon me,
And you seemed so far-so far.


And then? Well, then, you loved me,
Loved me with all your heart;
But we could not stand at the altar,
We were so far apart.
If a star should wed with a flower
The star must drop from the sky,
Or the flower in trying to reach it
Would droop on its stalk and die.


But you said that you loved me, darling,
And swore by the heavens above



That the Lord and all of His angels
Would sanction and bless our love.
And I? I was weak, not wicked.
My love was as pure as true,
And sin itself seemed a virtue
If only shared by you.


We have been happy together,
Though under the cloud of sin,
But I know that the day approaches
When my chastening must begin.
You have been faithful and tender,
But you will not always be,
And I think I had better leave you
While your thoughts are kind of me.


I know my beauty is fading-
Sin furrows the fairest brow-
And I know that your heart will weary
Of the face you smile on now.
You will take a bride to your bosom
After you turn from me;
You will sit with your wife in the moonlight,
And hold her babe on your knee.


Oh, God! I never could bear it;
It would madden my brain, I know;
And so while you love me dearly
I think I had better go.
It is sweeter to feel, my darling-
To know as I fall asleep-
That some one will mourn me and miss me,
That some one is left to weep,


Than to die as I should in the future,
To drop in the street some day,
Unknown, unwept and forgotten
After you cast me away.
Perhaps the blood of the Saviour
Can wash my garments clean;
Perchance I may drink of the waters
That flow through pastures green.


Perchance we may meet in heaven,
And walk in the streets above,
With nothing to grieve us or part us
Since our sinning was all through love.



God says, 'Love one another,'
And down to the depths of hell
Will he send the soul of a women
Because she loved-and fell?


And so in the moonlight he found her,
Or found her beautiful clay,
Lifeless and pallid as marble,
For the spirit had flown away.
The farewell words she had written
She held to her cold, white breast,
And the buried blade of a dagger
Told how she had gone to rest.
380

Greeting Poem

Greeting Poem

There was a sound in the wind to-day,
Like a joyous cymbal ringing!
And the leaves of the trees talked with the breeze,
And they altogether were singing,
For they knew that an army, both bold and strong,
A brave, brave army, was coming,
Not with the fife and sounds of strife,
With marshal music and drumming,
Not with stern faces and gleaming swords,
That would make blood to flow like water,
While brother and brother should slay each other
On wholesale fields of slaughter;
But rather like rills from a thousand hills,
That ripple through valley and heather,
On, on to the sea, with a song of glee,
Till they meet and mingle together.


They come from the South, and the East, and the West,
The bravest and best in the nation.
They come at no idle and aimless quest,
But to work for a world's salvation.
From the Scot's fair land and from England's strand,
O'er mountain and heather and ocean,
They come; and the foe by their coming shall know
The strength of a Templar's devotion.
On the earnest brows, in the thoughtful eyes,
We read the unchanging story-
They fight in their might for the truth and the right,
And not for vain name or glory.
O grandest of armies! O bravest of bands!
We give you a cordial greeting,
And the blood of our warm hearts beats in the hands
That are offered to you in meeting.
The heart of a Templar is never cold,
Nor stands it aloof from a brother,
And his hand is steady, and always ready
To clasp the hand of another.
In God's great Book, where but angels look,
On pages of spotless beauty
Are written in letters of living light
A Templar's vow and his duty.
'For ever and ever,' the promise reads,
For ever and ever 'twas given.
And who keeps or breaks the pledge that he takes
Must meet the record in heaven.


Our order is noble and grand and strong,
And is gathering strength each hour,
And the good of the earth proclaim its worth,
While the foe turns pale at its power.



And we of the State that men call great,
The nation's brave 'Badger' daughter,
Step by step as we go, are defeating the foe,
While we add to the hosts of cold water.


With a chief at our head whom the foe may well dread,
The Sherman or Grant of our battles,
By day and by night we fight the good fight,
Though never a cannon rattles.
For the tongue and the pen are the swords of our men,
And prayer keeps them whetted and polished;
They will let God's light in on the foe's licensed sin,
Till the traffic of death is abolished.


With cunning hands we fashioned the strands
Of a stout restraining tether,
To fasten the beast, for a season at least,
And our statesmen tied it together.
The beast strains the rope with the idle hope
Of making it weaker or longer,
But the Templars to-day are working away
To make it shorter and stronger.


We give you greeting-we need your aid!
There is work for many a morrow,
There are beautiful souls going down in the bowls,
There are homes that are burdened with sorrow,
There are mourning captives all over the earth,
Hugging the fetters that bind them.
We must show them the light, we must set them aright,
We must work for them all as we find them.


With a soaring 'Faith,' that is stronger than death,
We must work while the day hangs o'er us.
We are brave and strong, and our battle-song
Has 'Hope' for the ringing chorus.
With 'Charity' broad as the mercy of God,
We must lift up the fallen neighbor,
And the Lord's dear band, in the angel land,
Will smile on our blesséd labor.


Welcome, brave warriors in God's holy cause!
The hearts in our bosoms are beating
As one heart to-night, filled with pride and delight-
Welcome, thrice welcome, our greeting.
And though soon between will lie long miles of green,
Though oceans divide us for ever,



The ties which now bind heart with heart, mind with mind,
The hand of Death only can sever.
557

Guerdon

Guerdon


Upon the white cheek of the Cherub Year
I saw a tear.

Alas! I murmured, that the Year should borrow
So soon a sorrow.

Just then the sunlight fell with sudden flame:
A tear became

A wondrous diamond sparkling in the light –
A beautiful sight.

Upon my soul there fell such woeful loss,
I said, ‘The Cross

Is grievous for a life as young as mine.’
Just then, like wine,

God’s sunlight shone from His high Heavens down;
And lo! a crown

Gleamed in the place of what I thought a burden –
My sorrow’s guerdon.
293

Gracia

Gracia


Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her,
My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
Thou art my friend, but if thou dost defame her
I shall not hesitate to challenge thee.
'Curse and forget her?' So I might another,
One not so bounteous-natured or so fair;
But she, Antonio, she was like no other—
I curse her not, because she was so rare.
She was made out of laughter and sweet kisses;
Not blood, but sunshine, through her blue veins ran
Her soul spilled over with its wealth of blisses;
She was too great for loving but a man.
None but a god could keep so rare a creature:
I blame her not for her inconstancy;
When I recall each radiant smile and feature,
I wonder she so long was true to me.
Call her not false or fickle. I, who love her,
Do hold her not unlike the royal sun,
That, all unmated, roams the wide world over
And lights all worlds, but lingers not with one.
If she were less a goddess, more a woman,
And so had dallied for a time with me,
And then had left me, I, who am but human,
Would slay her and her newer love, maybe.
But since she seeks Apollo, or another
Of those lost gods (and seeks him all in vain)
And has loved me as well as any other
Of her men loves, why, I do not complain.
436

Good Templars' Song

Good Templars' Song

AIR-'O SUSANNAH!'

Ye soldiers in the temperance cause,
Our work is but begun.
Oh! sit not down in idleness
And think the field is won.
Our lambs are straying from the fold,
The wolves are on the track:
Oh! can you sit and see them go,
Nor strive to bring them back?


Chorus:


O Good Templars!
There's work for us to-day.
Then gird your armor on again,
And only pause to pray.


Whichever way the eye may turn,
It sees the rum-shop stand
With open door and flowing bowl,
A viper in the land.
The grapes are hanging from the vines,
All ready for the press.
Before, behind, on every side
Are seeds of drunkenness.


Our foes are all untiring,
But God is with the right,
And we will conquer at the last-
Then onward to the fight!
Ay, onward to the battle-field,
Each woman, child, and man!
King Alcohol shall yet go down
With all his demon clan.
379

God's Work

God's Work

To J. J. H., Of Kentucky

Gathering brands from the burning,
Plucking them out of the fire,
Lifting the sheep that have wandered,
Out of the dust and the mire,
Bringing home sheaves from the harvest
To lay at the Master's feet-
Lord! all thy hosts of angels
Must smile on a life so sweet.


Speaking with fear of no man,
Speaking with love for all,
Warning the young and the thoughtless
From the wild beast-'Alcohol.'
Showing the snares that the tempter
Weaveth on every hand.
Lord! all thy dear, dear angels
Must smile on a life so grand.


Fighting the bloodless battle
With a heart that is true and bold;
Fighting it not for glory,
Fighting it not for gold,
But out of love for his neighbor,
And out of love for his Lord.
And I know that the hands of the angels
Will crown him with his reward.


For whoso works for the Master,
And whoso fights his fight,
The angels crown with a star-wreath,
And it glows with gems most bright.
They wear them for ever and ever,
The saints in that land of bliss,
And I know that heaven's best jewel
Is kept for a soul like this.
327

Go Plant a Tree

Go Plant a Tree

God, what a joy it is to plant a tree,
And from the sallow earth to watch it rise,
Lifting its emerald branches to the skies
In silent adoration; and to see
Its strength and glory waxing with each spring.
Yes, 'tis a goodly, and a gladsome thing
To plant a tree.


Nature has many marvels; but a tree
Seems more than marvellous. It is divine.
So generous, so tender, so benign.
Not garrulous like the rivers; and yet free
In pleasant converse with the winds and birds;
Oh! privilege beyond explaining words,
To plant a tree.


Rocks are majestic; but, unlike a tree,
They stand aloof, and silent. In the roar
Of ocean billows breaking on the shore
There sounds the voice of turmoil. But a tree
Speaks ever of companionship and rest.
Yea, of all righteous acts, this, this is best,
To plant a tree.


There is an oak (oh! how I love that tree)
Which has been thriving for a hundred years;
Each day I send my blessing through the spheres
To one who gave this triple boon to me,
Of growing beauty, singing birds, and shade.
Wouldst thou win laurels that shall never fade?
483

Friendship

Friendship


Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving
Thy strong regard for me,
Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving;
Let thy faith speak for thee.


Swear not to me that nothing can divide us-
So little such oaths mean.
But when distrust and envy creep beside us
Let them not come between.


Say not to me the depths of thy devotion
Are deeper than the sea;
But watch, lest doubt or some unkind emotion
Embitter them for me.


Vow not to love me ever and for ever,
Words are such idle things;
But when we differ in opinions, never
Hurt me by little stings.


I'm sick of words: they are so lightly spoken,
And spoken, are but air.
I'd rather feel thy trust in me unbroken
Than list thy words so fair.


If all the little proofs of trust are heeded,
It thou are always kind,
No sacrifice, no promise will be needed
To satisfy my mind.
433

From the Grave

From the Grave

When the first sere leaves of the year were falling,
I heard, with a heart that was strangely thrilled,
Out of the grave of a dead Past calling,
A voice I fancied forever stilled.
All through winter and spring and summer,
Silence hung over that grave like a pall,
But, borne on the breath of the last sad comer,
I listen again to the old-time call.
It is only a love of a by-gone season,
A senseless folly that mocked at me
A reckless passion that lacked all reason,
So I killed it, and hid it where none could see.
I smothered it first to stop its crying,
Then stabbed it through with a good sharp blade,
And cold and pallid I saw it lying,
And deep—ah' deep was the grave I made.
But now I know that there is no killing
A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death.
There is no hushing, there is no stilling
That which is part of your life and breath.
You may bury it deep, and leave behind you
The land, the people, that knew your slain;
It will push the sods from its grave, and find you
On wastes of water or desert plain.
You may hear but tongues of a foreign people,
You may list to sounds that are strange and new;



But, clear as a silver bell in a steeple,
That voice from the grave shall call to you.
You may rouse your pride, you may use your reason.
And seem for a space to slay Love so;
But, all in its own good time and season,
It will rise and follow wherever you go.
You shall sit sometimes, when the leaves are falling,
Alone with your heart, as I sit to-day,
And hear that voice from your dead Past calling
Out of the graves that you hid away.
483

Forward

Forward


Let me look always forward. Never back.
Was I not formed for progress? Otherwise
With onward pointing feet and searching eyes
Would God have set me squarely on the track
Up which we all must labour with life's pack?
Yonder the goal of all this travel lies.
What matters it, if yesterday the skies
With light were golden, or with clouds were black?
I would not lose to-morrow's glow of dawn
By peering backward after sun's long set.
New hope is fairer than an old regret;
Let me pursue my journey and press on-
Nor tearful eyed, stand ever in one spot,
A briny statue like the wife of Lot.
461

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Identification and basic context

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American poet and novelist, born in Wisconsin. She is best known for her popular and inspirational poetry, often characterized by its accessible language and optimistic or sentimental themes. Wilcox achieved considerable fame during her lifetime, becoming one of the most widely read and commercially successful poets of her era. Her work often explored themes of love, nature, spirituality, and the power of positive thought, resonating with a broad audience. She wrote primarily in English and was a significant voice in American popular literature during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Childhood and education

Wilcox grew up in a rural setting in Wisconsin and showed an early inclination towards writing, composing her first poem at the age of seven. Her formal education was limited; she attended the University of Wisconsin for a brief period but left to pursue her literary ambitions. Despite this, she was a voracious reader and a self-taught individual, largely shaping her own intellectual and artistic development. Her early life experiences, including financial struggles within her family, likely contributed to her later focus on themes of perseverance and positive outlook.

Literary trajectory

Wilcox's literary career began in her youth, with poems appearing in local and then national publications. Her first book of poetry, "The Beautiful and the Ugly," was published in 1877, but it was her poem "The Beautiful World" (later retitled "The World Beautiful") that brought her widespread recognition. She went on to publish numerous volumes of poetry and prose, becoming a prolific and popular writer. Her work evolved in terms of its thematic focus, often emphasizing self-help, spiritualism, and a cheerful disposition, which cemented her reputation as a poet of encouragement and optimism. She was also a regular contributor to newspapers and magazines, further expanding her reach.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Wilcox's most famous works include poetry collections like "Poems of Passion" (1883), "The Beautiful World" (1890), and "Sonnets of Sorrow and Triumph" (1907), as well as the inspirational prose work "The Art of Being Alive" (1913). Her dominant themes revolve around love, loss, nature, the spiritual realm, and the importance of a positive mental attitude. Her style is generally characterized by simplicity, directness, and a strong emotional appeal, making her poetry highly accessible to a broad readership. She often employed traditional forms like the sonnet but was also known for her lyrical and often aphoristic verse. Her poetic voice is typically warm, empathetic, and encouraging, aiming to uplift and inspire. While not known for radical formal innovations, her strength lay in her ability to articulate common sentiments and philosophical ideas in memorable and quotable ways. Her association with popular poetry and the self-help genre often meant her work was distinguished from more experimental or avant-garde literary movements of her time.

Cultural and historical context

Wilcox wrote during a period of significant social and cultural change in the United States, including the Gilded Age, the Progressive Era, and the rise of the New Thought movement, which emphasized the power of the mind to influence one's circumstances. Her optimistic and spiritual themes aligned well with the prevailing mood of self-improvement and the search for meaning that characterized this era. She was a contemporary of other popular poets and writers, and her work was widely circulated through newspapers and magazines, reflecting the growing mass media landscape. Her accessible style and reassuring messages provided a form of comfort and guidance to many readers navigating the complexities of modern life.

Personal life

Wilcox experienced personal hardships, including her father's early death and the family's subsequent financial difficulties, which likely influenced her later emphasis on resilience and financial independence. She married Robert Wilcox in 1884, and their relationship provided stability. She was known to be interested in spiritualism and New Thought philosophy, which permeated her writing and offered a framework for her optimistic outlook. Her public persona was one of warmth and approachability, and she engaged actively with her audience through her writings.

Recognition and reception

Wilcox achieved immense popularity during her lifetime, becoming one of the best-selling poets in the United States. Her work was widely published, translated, and read, earning her considerable fame and financial success. She was often referred to as "the people's poet." While she enjoyed broad popular appeal and critical acknowledgment of her ability to connect with readers, her work was sometimes viewed by literary elites as sentimental or lacking in artistic depth compared to more formally complex poets. Nevertheless, her place in popular culture and her impact on readers seeking comfort and inspiration are undeniable.

Influences and legacy

Wilcox was influenced by contemporary popular poets and by the philosophical currents of her time, such as New Thought and the broader interest in spirituality and positive thinking. Her legacy lies in her enduring popularity and her contribution to the genre of inspirational poetry. She influenced many subsequent writers in the self-help and inspirational genres, and her poems continue to be quoted and shared for their uplifting messages. While not typically considered a canonical figure in "high" literature, her work remains significant for its widespread appeal and its role in shaping popular literary tastes and providing solace to generations of readers.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Scholarly interpretation of Wilcox's work often focuses on its role within the context of popular literature, the New Thought movement, and the rise of women writers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Critics analyze her thematic focus on optimism and self-reliance, and her accessible style, as key factors in her broad appeal. Debates may arise regarding the artistic merit of her sentimentalism versus the genuine emotional resonance of her message.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Wilcox was known for her belief in reincarnation and her interest in occult and spiritualist phenomena. She was also a proponent of vegetarianism. Her prolific output and sustained popularity made her a significant literary entrepreneur of her day. Despite her sentimental image, she was also a strong advocate for women's rights and empowerment, often weaving themes of independence and self-worth into her poetry.

Death and memory

Ella Wheeler Wilcox died in New York City at the age of 69. Her death was widely noted in the press, reflecting her considerable public profile. Her memory is preserved through the continued availability of her books and her frequent inclusion in anthologies of popular American poetry. Her poems remain widely circulated online and in popular culture, continuing to offer messages of hope and encouragement to new generations of readers.