Poems List

What Would It Be?

What Would It Be?

Now what were the words of Jesus,
And what would He pause and say,
If we were to meet in home or street,
The Lord of the world to-day?
Oh, I think He would pause and say:
'Go on with your chosen labour;
Speak only good of your neighbour;
Widen your farms, and lay down your arms,
Or dig up the soil with each sabre.'


Now what were the answer of Jesus
If we should ask for a creed,
To carry us straight to the wonderful gate
When soul from body is freed?
Oh, I think He would give us this creed:
'Praise God whatever betide you;
Cast joy on the lives beside you;
Better the earth, by growing in worth,
With love as the law to guide you.'


Now what were the answer of Jesus
If we should ask Him to tell
Of the last great goal of the homing soul
Where each of us hopes to dwell?
Oh, I think it is this He would tell:
'The soul is the builder-then wake it;
The mind is the kingdom-then take it;
And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought,
For heaven will be what you make it.'
337

What Is Flirtation?

What Is Flirtation?

What is flirtation? Really,
How can I tell you that?
But when she smiles I see its wiles,
And when he lifts his hat.


'Tis walking in the moonlight,
'Tis buttoning on a glove,
'Tis lips that speak of plays next week,
While eyes are talking love.


Tis meeting in the ball-room,
'Tis whirling in the dance;
'Tis something hid beneath the lid,
More than a simple glance.


'Tis lingering in the hallway,
'Tis sitting on the stair,
'Tis bearded lips on finger-tips,
If mamma isn't there.


'Tis tucking in the carriage,
'Tis asking for a call;
'Tis long good-nights in tender lights,
And that is-no, not all!


'Tis parting when it's over,
And one goes home to sleep;
Best joys must end, tra la, my friend,
But one goes home to weep!
408

What I Have Seen #4

What I Have Seen #4

I saw a youth, one of God's favored few,
Crowned with beauty, and talents, and health;
He had climbed the steep pathway, and cut his way through
To the summit of glory and wealth.
The day is breaking, hearts are waking,
Refreshed for the field of labor:
Arise, arise, like the king of the skies,
With a greeting for friend and neighbor.


He had toiled hard for the honors he'd won,
He had climbed over high rocks, forded streams;
Braved the bleak winter snow, the hot summer sun,
He was reaching the goal of his dreams.
The day hangs around us, the sun hath bound us
With fetters silken and yellow:
Flow, flow away, fleeting day,
Golden-hearted and mellow.


I saw the youth lift a mug to his mouth,
Drink the last drop of the fearful first glass!
Ah! his veins thrill in a fierce, scorching drouth,
He fills it again, again drinks it! alas!
The day is dying, hearts are sighing,
Crushed with a weight of sorrow:
Sleep, oh! sleep, in a slumber deep,
And wait for a bright to-morrow.


I saw him low in the dust at my feet,
Gone beauty, health, wealth, strength, talents, all;
From the summit of Fame to the slime of the street,
He had bartered his soul for the fiend Alcohol.
The night hangs o'er us, the wind's wild chorus
Shrieks like a demons' revel:
Weep, sob, weep, for the fog is deep,
And the world is sold to the devil.
14

What Had He Done?

What Had He Done?

I saw the farmer, when the day was done,
And the proud sun had sought his crimson bed,
And the mild stars came forward one by one-
I saw the sturdy farmer, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O farmer! say?'


'Oh! I have sown the wheat in yonder field,
And pruned my orchard to increase its yield,
And turned the furrow for a patch of corn:
This have I done, with other things, since morn.'


I saw the blacksmith in his smithy-door,
When day had vanished and the west grew red,
And all the busy noise and strife were o'er-
I saw the kingly blacksmith, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O blacksmith! say?


'Oh! I have made two plough-shares all complete,
And nailed the shoes on many horses' feet;
And-O my friend! I cannot tell you half,'
The man of muscle answered, with a laugh.


I saw the miller, when the day had gone,
And all the sunlight from the hills had fled,
And tender shadows crept across the lawn-
I saw the trusty miller, and I said:
'What have you done to-day,
O miller gray?'


'Oh! I have watched my mill from morn to night,
And never saw yon flour so snowy white.
And many are the mouths to-day I've fed,
I ween,' the merry miller laughed and said.


I saw another, when the night grew nigh,
And turned each daily toiler from his task,
When gold and crimson banners decked the sky-
I saw another, and I paused to ask:
'What have you done to-day,
Rumseller, say?'


But the rumseller turned with dropping head,
And not a single word in answer said.



What had he done? His work he knew full well
Was plunging human souls in deepest hell.


Alas! rumseller, on that awful day,
When death shall call you, and your race is run,
How can you answer? What can you hope to say?
When God shall ask you, 'What have you done?'
How can you meet the eye
Of the Most High?


When night approaches and the day grows late,
Think you to find the way to heaven's gate?
Think you to dwell with souls of righteous men?
Think you to enter in? If not, what then?
448

What I Have Seen #2

What I Have Seen #2

I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
He was both tender and true;
He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
'Darling, I worship you.'
Sing, sing, bird of the spring,
Tell of the flowers the summer will bring.


I saw the maiden, sweet, loving, confiding,
Smile when he whispered 'Mine,'
Saw her lips meet his with no word of chiding,
Though his breath fumed with wine.
Wail, wail, Nightingale,
Sing of a mourner bowed and pale.


I saw the lover and maid at the altar,
Bound by the bands divine;
Heard the responses-they fail not nor falter-
Saw the guests pledge in wine.
Howl, howl, ominous Owl,
Shriek of the terrible tempest's scowl.


I saw the drunkard's wife weeping in anguish,
Saw her struck down by a blow;
I saw the husband in prison-cells languish-
Thus ends the tale of woe.
Shriek, shriek, O Raven! speak
Of the terrible midnight, dark and bleak.
18

War

War


I

There is no picturesqueness and no glory,
No halo of romance, in war to-day.
It is a hideous thing; Time would turn grey
With horror, were he not already hoary
At sight of this vile monster, foul and gory.
Yet while sweet women perish as they pray,
And new-born babes are slaughtered, who dare say
'Halt!' till Right pens its 'Finis' to the story!
There is no pathway, but the path through blood,
Out of the horrors of this holocaust.
Hell has let loose its scalding crimson flood,
And he who stops to argue now is lost.
Not brooms of creeds, not Pacifistic words
Can stem the tide, but swords-uplifted swords!


II


Yet, after Peace has turned the clean white page
There shall be sorrow on the earth for years;
Abysmal grief, that has no eyes for tears,
And youth that hobbles through the earth like age.
But better to play this part upon life's stage
Than to aid structures that a tyrant rears,
To live a stalwart hireling torn with fears,
And shamed by feeding on a conqueror's wage.
Death, yea, a thousand deaths, were sweet in truth
Rather than such ignoble life. God gave
Being, and breath, and high resolve to youth
That it might be Wrong's master, not its slave.
Our road to Freedom is the road to guns!
Go, arm your sons! I say, Go, arm your sons!


III


Arm! arm! that mandate on each wind is whirled.
Let no man hesitate or look askance,
For from the devastated homes of France
And ruined Belgium the cry is hurled.
Why, Christ Himself would keep peace banners furled
Were He among us, till, with lifted lance,
He saw the hosts of Righteousness advance
To purify the Temples of the world.
There is no safety on the earth to-day
For any sacred thing, or clean, or fair;
Nor can there be, until men rise and slay
The hydra-headed monster in his lair.
War! horrid War! now Virtue's only friend;
Clasp hands with War, and battle to the end!
362

Warning

Warning


High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning,
Albeit the sun shone bright;
Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning,
‘Remember Night! ’
309

Vanity Fair

Vanity Fair

In Vanity Fair, as we bow and smile,
As we talk of the opera after the weather,
As we chat of fashion and fad and style,
We know we are playing a part together.
You know that the mirth she wears, she borrows;
She knows you laugh but to hide your sorrows;
We know that under the silks and laces,
And back of beautiful, beaming faces,
Lie secret trouble and grim despair,
In Vanity Fair.


In Vanity Fair, on dress parade,
Our colors look bright and our swords are gleaming;
But many a uniform's worn and frayed,
And most of the weapons, despite their seeming.
Are dull and blunted and badly battered,
And close inspection will show how tattered
And stained are the banners that float above us.
Our comrades hate, while they swear to love us;
And robed like Pleasure walks gaunt-eyed Care,
In Vanity Fair.


In Vanity Fair, as we strive for place,
As we rush and jostle and crowd and hurry,
We know the goal is not worth the race-
We know the prize is not worth the worry;
That all our gain means loss for another;
That in fighting for self we wound each other;
That the crown of success weighs hard and presse
The brow of the victor with thorns-not caresses;
That honors are empty and worthless to wear,
In Vanity Fair.


But in Vanity Fair, as we pass along,
We meet strong hearts that are worth the knowing;
'Mong poor paste jewels that deck the throng,
We see a solitaire sometimes glowing.
We find grand souls under robes of fashion,
'Neath light demeanors hide strength and passion;
And fair fine honor and Godlike resistance.
In halls of pleasure may have existence;
And we find pure altars and shrines of prayer,
In Vanity Fair.
478

Voice of the Voiceless

Voice of the Voiceless

I am the Voice of the Voiceless
Through me the dumb shall speak
Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the wordless weak.
Oh shame on the mothers of mortals
Who do not stoop to teach
The sorrow that lies in dear dumb eyes
The sorrow that has no speech.
From street, from cage, from kennel
From stable and from zoo
The wall of my tortured kin proclaims the sin
Of the mighty against the frail.
But I am my brother's keeper
And I shall fight their fight
And speak the word for beast and bird
Till the world shall set things right.
333

Until The Night

Until The Night

Over the ocean of life’s commotion
We sail till the night comes on.
Sail and sail in a tiny boat,
Drifting wherever the billows go.
Out on the treacherous sea afloat,

Beat by the cruel winds that blow,
Hither and thither our boat is drawn,
Till the day dies out and the night comes on.

Over a meadow of light and shadow
We wander with weary feet,
Seeking a bauble men call “Fame, ”
Grasping the dead-sea fruit named “wealth, ”
Finding each but an empty name,

And the night – the night steals on by stealth,
And we count the season of slumber sweet,
When hope lies dead in the arms of defeat.

Over the river a great Forever
Stretches beyond our sight.
But I know by the glistening pearly gates
Afar from the region of strife and sin,
A beautiful angel always waits

To welcome the sheep of the shepherd in.
And out of the shadows of gloom and night,
They enter the mansion of peace and light.
382

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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.