A Waft Of Perfume

A waft of perfume from a bit of lace
    Moved lightly by a passing woman's hand;
And on the common street, a sensuous grace
    Shone suddenly from some lost time and land.

Tall structures changed to dome and parapet;
    The stern-faced Church an oracle became;
In sheltered alcoves marble busts were set;
    And on the wall frail Lais wrote her name.

Phryne before her judges stood at bay,
    Fearing the rigour of Athenian laws;
Till Hyperides tore her cloak away,
    And bade her splendid beauty plead its cause.

Great Alexander walking in the dusk,
    Dreamed of the hour when Greek with Greek should meet;
From Thais' window attar breathed, and musk:
    His footsteps went no farther down the street.

Faint and more faint the pungent perfume grew;
    Of wall and parapet remained no trace.
Temple and statue vanished from the view:
    The city street again was commonplace.

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'.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Leaf.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

I Wonder Why

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Occupation

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Who Is A Christian?

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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

Lais When Old

Lais, when old and all her beauty gone,
Lais, the erstwhile courted pleasure queen,
Walked homeless through Corinth.
    One mocked her mien -
One tossed her coins; she took them and passed on.
Down by the harbour sloped a terraced lawn,
    Where fountains played; she paused to view the scene.
    A marble palace stood in bowers of green
'Twas here of old she revelled till the dawn.

Through yonder portico her lovers came -
    Hero and statesman, athlete, merchant, sage;
    They flung the whole world's treasures at her feet
To buy her favour and exalt her shame.

* * *

She spat upon her dole of coins in rage
    And faded like a phantom down the street.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Trifles

Only a spar from a broken ship
    Washed in by a careless wave;
But it brought back the smile of a vanished lip,
    And his past peered out of the grave.

Only a leaf that an idle breeze
    Tossed at her passing feet;
But she seemed to stand under the dear old trees,
    And life again was sweet.

Only the bar of a tender strain
    They sang in days gone by;
But the old love woke in her heart again,
    The love they had sworn should die.

Only the breath of a faint perfume
    That floated up from a rose;
But the bolts slid back from a marble tomb,
    And I looked on a dear dead face.

Who vaunts the might of a human will,
    When a perfume or a sound
Can wake a Past that we bade lie still,
    And open a long closed w...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Aesthetic.

In a garb that was guiltless of colors
    She stood, with a dull, listless air -
A creature of dumps and of dolors,
    But most undeniably fair.

The folds of her garment fell round her,
    Revealing the curve of each limb;
Well proportioned and graceful I found her,
    Although quite alarmingly slim.

From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal -
    "High art" was she down to her feet;
And though I could not understand all
    She said, I could see she was sweet.

Impressed by her limpness and languor,
    I proffered a chair near at hand;
She looked back a mild sort of anger -
    Posed anew, and continued to stand.

Some praises I next tried to mutter
    Of the fan that she held to her face;
She said it was "utterly utter,...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Aesthetic

In a garb that was guiltless of colours
    She stood, with a dull, listless air -
A creature of dumps and of dolours,
    But most undeniably fair.

The folds of her garment fell round her,
    Revealing the curve of each limb;
Well proportioned and graceful I found her,
    Although quite alarmingly slim.

From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal -
    "High art" was she down to her feet;
And though I could not understand all
    She said, I could see she was sweet.

Impressed by her limpness and languor,
    I proffered a chair near at hand;
She looked back a mild sort of anger -
    Posed anew, and continued to stand.

Some praises I next tried to mutter
    Of the fan that she held to her face;
She said it was "utterly utte...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Tryst.

Had fallen a fragrant shower;
The leaves were dripping yet;
Each fern and rain-weighed flower
Around were gleaming wet;
On ev'ry bosky bower
A million gems were set.

The dust's moist odors sifted
Cool with the summer rain,
Mixed with the musk that drifted
From orchard and from plain; -
Her garden's fence white lifted
Its length along the lane.

The moon the clouds had shattered
In curdled peaks of pearl;
The honeysuckle scattered
Warm odors from each curl,
Where the white moonlight, flattered,
Hung molten 'round a girl.

Then grew the night completer
With light and cloud and air;
Aromas sweet blew sweeter,
Sweet flowers fair, more fair;
Fleet feet and fast grew fleeter
Thro' that fair sorceress there.

Madison Julius Cawein

Memory's River

In Nature's bright blossoms not always reposes
    That strange subtle essence more rare than their bloom,
Which lies in the hearts of carnations and roses,
    That unexplained something by men called perfume.
Though modest the flower, yet great is its power
    And pregnant with meaning each pistil and leaf,
If only it hides there, if only abides there,
    The fragrance suggestive of love, joy, and grief.

Not always the air that a master composes
    Can stir human heart-strings with pleasure or pain.
But strange, subtle chords, like the scent of the roses,
    Breathe out of some measures, though simple the strain.
And lo! when you hear them, you love them and fear them,
    You tremble with anguish, you thrill with delight,
For back of them slumber old dreams...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox