Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Dost thou not tire, Isaura, of this play?
What play? Why this old play of winning hearts!
Nay...

I may not reach the heights I seek,
My untried strength may fail me;
Or, half-way up the mou...

Keep out of the Past! For its highways
Are damp with malarial gloom;
Its gardens are sere and ...

Through valley and hamlet and city,
Wherever humanity dwells,
With a heart full of infinite p...

Life is a Shylock; always it demands
The fullest userer's interest for each pleasure.
Gifts are...

Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast:
In all earth's devious ways, I sought for rest
And ...

Life is too short for any vain regretting;
Let dead delight bury its dead, I say,
And let us...

As we speed out of youth's sunny station,
The track seems to shine in the light,
But it sudde...

Do you remember the name I wore--
The old pet-name of Little Queen--
In the dear, dead days, ...

There was a fair garden sloping
From the southeast side of the mountain-ledge;
And the earlies...

There is a story of a beauteous land,
Where fields were fertile and where flowers were bright; ...

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can.
No hear...

She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
With the clash of arms and the bugle's call;
...

How does Love speak?
In the faint flush upon the telltale cheek,
And in the pallor that succee...

Once in the world's first prime,
When nothing lived or stirred;
Nothing but new-born Time,
...