About May

One night Nurse Sleep held out her hand
    To tired little May.
"Come, go with me to Wonderland,"
    She said, "I know the way.
Just rock-a-by - hum-m-m,
    And lo! we come
To the place where the dream-girls play."

But naughty May, she wriggled away
    From Sleep's soft arms, and said:
"I must stay awake till I eat my cake,
    And then I will go to bed;
With a by-lo, away I will go."
    But the good nurse shook her head.

She shook her head and away she sped,
    While May sat munching her crumb.
But after the cake there came an ache,
    Though May cried: "Come, Sleep, come,
And it's oh! my! let us by-lo-by" -
    All save the echoes were dumb.

She ran after Sleep toward Wonderland,
    Ran till the morning light;
And just as she caught her and grasped her hand,
    A nightmare gave her a fright.
And it's by-lo, I hope she'll know
    Better another night.

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

The Rainbow Of Promise

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

If We Should Meet Him

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Helen Of Troy On The Isle Of Rhodes

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

The Word

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.

The Isle Of Sleep.

In those dark mornings, deep in June,
    When brooding birds stir in the nest,
And heavy dews slip down the leaves,
    And drop into the rose's breast,
I woke and looked into the east,
    And saw no sign of coming day,
The pale cold morning rolled in mist,
    Slept on the hill-tops far away.

My window looked into the dawn,
    The slumbering dawn that was so nigh,
The shadow of the hills was drawn
    In waving lines against the sky.
But warmer hues began to tip
    The edges of the mountain cloud
And morning's rosy cheek and lip
    Glowed softly through her snow-pale shroud.

I turned and gazed into the west,
    The river murmured in my ear
'Gone night, and silence, dreams and rest,
    Another day of toil is here.'

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Under The Sheet

What a terrible night!    Does the Night, I wonder -
    The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
Like an ordained nun, know what lies under
    That awful, motionless, snow-white sheet?
The winds seem crazed, and, wildly howling,
    Over the sad earth blindly go.
Do they and the dark clouds over them scowling,
    Do they dream or know?

Why, here in the room, not a week or over -
    Tho' it must be a week, not more than one -
(I cannot recken of late or discover
    When one day is ended or one begun),
But here in this room we were laughing lightly,
    And glad was the measure our two hearts beat;
And the royal face that was smiling so brightly
    Lies under that sheet.

I know not why - it is strange and fearful,
    But I am afrai...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The River Of Sleep

There are curious isles in the River of Sleep,
    Curious isles without number.
We'll visit them all as we leisurely creep
Down the winding stream whose current is deep,
    In our beautiful barge of Slumber.

The very first isle in this wonderful stream
    Quite close to the shore is lying,
And after a supper of cakes and cream
We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream,
    And hurry away from it crying.

And next is the Island-of-Lullaby,
    And every one there rejoices.
The winds are only a perfumed sigh,
And the birds that sing in the treetops try
    To imitate Mothers' voices.

A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams;
    Oh, that is the place to be straying.
Everything there is just as it seems;
Dolls are real and sunshine g...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Night

Oh! give me the night, the dark, dark night,
    The night with never a star.
When the stars are veiled and the moon has sailed
    Beyond the horizon's bar.
When thought grows weary of groping its way
    Through darkness dense and deep,
And buries its head in oblivion's bed,
    Wrapped warm in the mantle of sleep.

For I hate the night, the moon-white night,
    The night with a pallid face,
When a million eyes from the watchful skies
    Peers into each secret place.
For thought awakes and the old wound aches,
    And Sorrow she cannot rest,
But all night long walks to and fro
    Through the aisles of my troubled breast.

And Memory thinks it her royal hour
    When the heavens glitter and shine;
And she fills the cup of the past well ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Earth Bound

New paradise, and groom and bride;
The world was all their own;
Her heart swelled full of love and pride;
Yet were they quite alone?
'Now how is it, oh how is it, and why is it' (in fear
All silent to herself she spake) 'that something strange seems here?'

Along the garden paths they walked -
The moon was at its height -
And lover-wise they strolled and talked,
But something was not right.
And 'Who is that, now who is that, oh who is that,' quoth she,
(All silent in her heart she spake) 'that seems to follow me?'

He drew her closer to his side;
She felt his lingering kiss;
And yet a shadow seemed to glide
Between her heart and his.
And 'What is that, now what is that, oh what is that,' she said,
(All silent to herself she spake) 'that minds me...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In The Night.

Sometimes at night, when I sit and write,
    I hear the strangest things, -
As my brain grows hot with burning thought,
    That struggles for form and wings,
I can hear the beat of my swift blood's feet,
    As it speeds with a rush and a whir
From heart to brain and back again,
    Like a race-horse under the spur.

With my soul's fine ear I listen and hear
    The tender Silence speak,
As it leans on the breast of Night to rest,
    And presses his dusky cheek.
And the darkness turns in its sleep, and yearns
    For something that is kin;
And I hear the hiss of a scorching kiss,
    As it folds and fondles Sin.

In its hurrying race through leagues of space,
    I can hear the Earth catch breath,
As it heaves and moans, and shudders and...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox