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Uncontrolled

Uncontrolled


The mighty forces of mysterious space
Are one by one subdued by lordly man.
The awful lightning that for eons ran

Their devastating and untrammeled race,

Now bear his messages from place to place
Like carrier doves. The winds lead on his van;
The lawless elements no longer can

Resist his strength, but yield with sullen grace.

His bold feet scaling heights before untrod,
Light, darkness, air and water, heat and cold
He bids go forth and bring him power and pelf.
And yet though ruler, king and demi-god
He walks with his fierce passions uncontrolled
The conquerer of all things – save himself.
388

Two Sunsets

Two Sunsets

In the fair morning of his life,
When his pure heart lay in his breast,
Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world's strife


That fills young hearts with mad desire,
He saw a sunset. Red and gold
The burning billows surged and rolled,
And upward tossed their caps of fire.


He looked. And as he looked the sight
Sent from his soul through breast and brain
Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.
His heart seemed bursting with delight.


So near the Unknown seemed, so close
He might have grasped it with his hand.
He felt his inmost soul expand,
As sunlight will expand a rose.


One day he heard a singing strain--
A human voice, in bird-like trills.
He paused, and little rapture-rills
Went trickling downward through each vein.


And in his heart the whole day long,
As in a temple veiled and dim,
He kept and bore about with him
The beauty of that singer's song.


And then? But why relate what then?
His smoldering heart flamed into fire--
He had his one supreme desire,
And plunged into the world of men.


For years queen Folly held her sway.
With pleasures of the grosser kind
She fed his flesh and drugged his mind,
Till, shamed, he sated turned away.


He sought his boyhood's home. That hour
Triumphant should have been, in sooth,
Since he went forth an unknown youth,
And came back crowned with wealth and power.


The clouds made day a gorgeous bed;
He saw the splendor of the sky
With unmoved heart and stolid eye;
He knew only West was red.


Then suddenly a fresh young voice
Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place,



He did not even turn his face;
It struck him simply as a noise.


He trod the old paths up and down.
Their ruch-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled--
How dull they were--how dull the world--
Dull even in the pulsing town.


O! worst of punishments, that brings
A blunting of all finer sense,
A loss of feelings keen, intense,
And dulls us to the higher things.


O! penalty most dire, most sure,
Swift following after gross delights,
That we no more see beauteous sights,
Or hear as hear the good and pure.


O! shape more hideous and more dread
Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds,
This certain doom that blunts and blinds,
And strikes the holiest feelings dead.
330

Unanswered Prayers

Unanswered Prayers

Like some school master, kind in being stern,
Who hears the children crying o’er their slates
And calling, “Help me master! ” yet helps not,
Since in his silence and refusal lies
Their self-development, so God abides
Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf
To any cry sent up from earnest hearts,
He hears and strengthens when He must deny.
He sees us weeping over life’s hard sums
But should He give us the key and dry our tears
What would it profit us when school were done
And not one lesson mastered?

What a world
Where this if all our prayers were answered. Not
In famed Pandora’s box were such vast ills
As lie in human hearts. Should our desires
Voiced one by one in prayer ascend to God
And come back as events shaped to our wish
What chaos would result!

In my fierce youth
I sighed out a breath enough to move a fleet
Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons
Which were denied; and that denial bends
My knee to prayers of gratitude each day
Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers
I rose always regirded for the strife
And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad heart,
That which thou pleadest for may not be given
But in the lofty altitude where souls
Who supplicate God’s grace are lifted there
Thou shalt find help to bear thy daily lot
Which is not elsewhere found.
309

Two Loves

Two Loves

The woman he loved, while he dreamed of her,
Danced on till the stars grew dim,

But alone with her heart, from the world apart
Sat the woman who loved him.

The woman he worshipped only smiled
When he poured out his passionate love.

But the other somewhere, kissed her treasure most rare,
A book he had touched with his glove.

The woman he loved betrayed his trust,
And he wore the scars for life;

And he cared not, nor knew, that the other was true;
But no man called her his wife.

The woman he loved trod festal halls,
While they sang his funeral hymn,

But the sad bells tolled, ere the year was old,
For the woman that loved him.
355

Two Roses

Two Roses

A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,
Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet,

Beside a Jacqueminot’s royal splendour,
And both in my lady’s boudoir lay.

Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning,
‘I wonder why you are called a rose?

Your leaves will fade in a single morning;
No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows.

‘Your course green stalk shows dust of the highway,
You have no depths of fragrant bloom;

And what could you learn in a rustic byway
To fit you to lie in my lady’s room?

‘If called to adorn her warm, white bosom,
What have you to offer for such a place,

Beside my fragrant and splendid blossom,
Ripe with colour and rich with grace?

Said the sweet wild-rose, ‘Despite your dower
Of finer breeding and deeper hue,

Despite your beauty, fair, high-bred flower,
It is I who should lie on her breast, not you.

‘For small account is your hot-house glory
Beside the knowledge that came to me

When I heard by the wayside love’s old story
And felt the kiss of the amorous bee.’
346

To Men

To Men

Sirs, when you pity us, I say
You waste your pity. Let it stay,
Well corked and stored upon your shelves,
Until you need it for yourselves.


We do appreciate God's thought
In forming you, before He brought
Us into life. His art was crude,
But oh, so virile in its rude


Large elemental strength: and then
He learned His trade in making men;
Learned how to mix and mould the clay
And fashion in a finer way.


How fine that skilful way can be
You need but lift your eyes to see;
And we are glad God placed you there
To lift your eyes and find us fair.


Apprentice labour though you were,
He made you great enough to stir
The best and deepest depths of us,
And we are glad he made you thus.


Ay! we are glad of many things.
God strung our hearts with such fine strings
The least breath movces them, and we hear
Music where silence greets your ear.


We suffer so? but women's souls
Like violet powder dropped on coals,
Give forth their best in anguish. Oh,
The subtle secrets that we know,


Of joy in sorrow, strange delights
Of ecstasy in pain-filled nights,
And mysteries of gain in loss
Known but to Christ upon the Cross!


Our tears are pitiful to you?
Look how the heaven-reflecting dew
Dissolves its life in tears. The sand
Meanwhile lies hard upon the strand.


How could your pity find a place
For us, the mothers of the race?
Men may be fathers unaware,
So poor the title is you wear,


But mothers -? Who that crown adorns
Knows all its mingled blooms and thorns;



And she whose feet that path hath trod
Has walked upon the heights with God.


No, offer us not pity's cup.
There is no looking down or up
Between us: eye looks straight in eye:
Born equals, so we live and die.
393

True Charity

True Charity

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

And hungry, as before.

I gave a thought, and through that thought of mine
He found himself, the man, supreme, divine!
Fed, clothed, and crowned with blessings manifold.
And now he begs no more.
313

To An Astrologer

To An Astrologer

Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,
Nor question that the tenor of my life,
Past, present and the future, is revealed
There in my horoscope. I do believe
That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas
To ebb and flow, and that my natal star
Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space
And challenges events; nor lets one grief,
Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on
To mar or bless my earthly lot, until
It proves its Karmic right to come to me.


All this I grant, but more than this I know!
Before the solar systems were conceived,
When nothing was but the unnamable,
My spirit lived, an atom of the Cause.
Through countless ages and in many forms
It has existed, ere it entered in
This human frame to serve its little day
Upon the earth. The deathless Me of me,
The spark from that great all-creative fire
Is part of that eternal source called God,
And mightier than the universe.


Why, he
Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets
The pedigree divine of his own soul,
Can conquer, shape and govern destiny
And use vast space as ‘twere a board for chess
With stars for pawns; can change his horoscope
To suit his will; turn failure to success,
And from preordained sorrows, harvest joy.

There is no puny planet, sun or moon,
Or zodiacal sign which can control
The God in us! If we bring that to bear
Upon events, we mold them to our wish,
Tis when the infinite ‘neath the finite gropes
That men are governed by their horoscopes.
376

Tired

Tired


I am tired to-night, and something,
The wind maybe, or the rain,
Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,
Has brought back the past and its pain.
And I feel as I sit here thinking,
That the hand of a dead old June
Has reached out hold of my heart’s loose strings,
And is drawing them up in tune.

I am tired to-night, and I miss you,
And long for you, love, through tears;
And it seems but to-day that I saw you go –
You, who have been gone for years.
And I seem to be newly lonely –
I, who am so much alone;
And the strings of my heart are well in tune,
But they have not the same old tone.

I am tired; and that old sorrow
Sweeps down the bed of my soul,
As a turbulent river might suddenly break
Away from a dam’s control.
It beareth a wreck on its bosom,
A wreck with a snow-white sail,
And the hand on my heart-strings thrums away,
But they only respond with a wail.
352

Time And Love

Time And Love

Time flies. The swift hours hurry by
And speed us on to untried ways;

New seasons ripen, perish, die,
And yet love stays.

The old, old love – like sweet at first,
At last like bitter wine –

I know not if it blest or curst,
Thy life and mine.

Time flies. In vain our prayers, our tears,
We cannot tempt him to delays;

Down to the past he bears the years,
And yet love stays.

Through changing task and varying dream
We hear the same refrain,

As one can hear a plaintive theme
Run through each strain.

Time flies. He steals out pulsing youth,
He robs us of our care-free days,

He takes away our trust and truth,
And yet love stays.

O Time! take love! When love is vain,
When all its best joys die –

When only its regrets remain –
Let love, too, fly.
410

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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.