A Dirge

Death and a dirge at midnight;
    Yet never a soul in the house
Heard anything more than the throb and beat
    Of a beautiful waltz of Strauss.

Dead, dead, dead, and staring,
    With a ghastly smile on its face;
But the world saw only laughing eyes
    And roses, and billows of lace.

Floating and whirling together,
    Into the beautiful night,
How little you dreamed of the ghastly thing
    I was hiding away from your sight.

Meeting your dark eyes' splendour,
    Feeling your warm, sweet breath,
How could you know that my passionate heart
    Had died a horrible death?

Died in its fever and fervour,
    Died in its beautiful bloom;
And that waltz of Strauss was a funeral dirge,
    Leading the way to the tomb.

But you held my hand at parting,
    And I smiled back a gay good night;
And you never knew of the ghastly corpse
    I was hiding away from your sight.

Yet whenever I hear the Danube -
    Under its pulsing strain,
I catch the wail of the funeral dirge,
    And my heart dies over again.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox was an American author and poet, born on November 5, 1850, and died on October 30, 1919. She was known for her works expressing optimistic views and moral lessons. Her most famous book was 'Poems of Passion'. Her poem 'Solitude' contains the famous lines, 'Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone'. Over her career, Wilcox became popularly known as a 'people's poet'.

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English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Over The May Hill.

All through the night time, and all through the day time,
    Dreading the morning and dreading the night,
Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time
    Season of beauty and season of blight,
Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow,
    Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere,
Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow,
    Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair.

Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery,
    Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens,
Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary -
    Too well I know what that weariness means.
But how could I know in the crisp winter weather
    (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath),
Riding and singing and dancing together,
    How could I know you were racing with death?

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Over The May Hill

All through the night time, and all through the day time,
    Dreading the morning and dreading the night,
Nearer and nearer we drift to the May time
    Season of beauty and season of blight,
Leaves on the linden, and sun on the meadow,
    Green in the garden, and bloom everywhere,
Gloom in my heart, and a terrible shadow,
    Walks by me, sits by me, stands by my chair.

Oh, but the birds by the brooklet are cheery,
    Oh, but the woods show such delicate greens,
Strange how you droop and how soon you are weary -
    Too well I know what that weariness means.
But how could I know in the crisp winter weather
    (Though sometimes I noticed a catch in your breath),
Riding and singing and dancing together,
    How could I know you were racing with death?

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Beautiful Blue Danube.

        They drift down the hall together;
    He smiles in her lifted eyes;
        Like waves of that mighty river,
    The strains of the "Danube" rise.
        They float on its rhythmic measure
    Like leaves on a summer-stream;
        And here, in this scene of pleasure,
    I bury my sweet, dead dream.

        Through the cloud of her dusky tresses,
    Like a star, shines out her face,
        And the form his strong arm presses
    Is sylph like in its grace.
        As a leaf on the bounding river
    Is lost in the seething sea,
        I know that forever and ever
    My dream is lost to me.

        And still the viols are playing
    That grand old wordless rhyme;
        And still those two ate swaying
    In perfect ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Waltz-Quadrille.

        The band was playing a waltz-quadrille,
    I felt as light as a wind-blown feather,
        As we floated away, at the caller's will,
    Through the intricate, mazy dance together.
        Like mimic armies our lines were meeting,
        Slowly advancing, and then retreating,
    All decked in their bright array;
        And back and forth to the music's rhyme
        We moved together, and all the time
    I knew you were going away.

        The fold of your strong arm sent a thrill
    From heart to brain as we gently glided
        Like leaves on the wave of that waltz-quadrille;
    Parted, met, and again divided -
        You drifting one way, and I another,
        Then suddenly turning and facing each other,
    Then off in the blithe c...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Strain Of Music

In through the open window
    To the chamber where I lay,
There came the beat of merry feet,
    From the dancers over the way.
And back on the wings of the music
    That rose on the midnight air,
My rare youth came and spoke my name,
    And lo!    I was young and fair.

Once more in the glitter of gaslight
    I stood in my life's glad prime:
And heart and feet in a rhythm sweet
    Were keeping the music's time.
Like a leaf in the breeze of summer
    I drifted down the hall,
On an arm that is cold with death and mould,
    And is hidden under the pall.

Once more at a low voice's whisper
    (A voice that is long since stilled)
I felt the flush of a rising blush,
    And my pulses leaped and thrilled.
Once more in a sea of f...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Duel

Oh many a duel the world has seen
    That was bitter with hate, that was red with gore,
But I sing of a duel by far more cruel
    Than ever by poet was sung before.
It was waged by night, yea by day and by night,
    With never a pause or halt or rest,
And the curious spot where this battle was fought
    Was the throbbing heart in a woman's breast.

There met two rivals in deadly strife,
    And they fought for this woman so pale and proud.
One was a man in the prime of life,
    And one was a corpse in a moldy shroud;
One wrapped in a sheet from his head to his feet,
    The other one clothed in worldly fashion;
But a rival to dread is a man who is dead,
    If he has been loved in life with passion.

The living lover he battled with sighs,
...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox