After

After the end that is drawing near
    Comes, and I no more see your face
Worn with suffering, lying here,
    What shall I do with the empty place?

You are so weary, that if I could
    I would not hinder, I would not keep
The great Creator of all things good,
    From giving his own beloved sleep.

But over and over I turn this thought.
    After they bear you away to the tomb,
And banish the glasses, and move the cot,
    What shall I do with the empty room?

And when you are lying at rest, my own,
    Hidden away in the grass and flowers,
And I listen in vain for your sigh and moan,
    What shall I do with the silent hours?

O God!    O God! in the great To Be
    What canst Thou give me to compensate
For the terrible silence, the vacancy,
    Grim, and awful, and desolate?

Passing away, my beautiful one,
    Out of the old life into the new.
But when it is over, and all is done,
    God of the Merciful, what shall I do?

Sweetest of slumber, and soundest rest,
    No more sorrow, and no more gloom.
I am quite contented, and all is best, -
    But the empty bed -and the silent room!

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

Worth While

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Diamonds

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Protest

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

The Duet.

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.

Two Rooms

One room is full of luxury, and dim
    With that soft moonlit radiance of light
That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him
    Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim
    With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed
By candles casting shadows weird and grim,
    Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face
    Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair
You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place;
    You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face
    Whereon is frozen such supreme despair,
You need but look to know what left the trace;
    You know love has been there.

To one he comes!    She leans her head of gold
    Upon his breast...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

An Empty Crib

Beside a crib that holds a baby's stocking,
A tattered picture book, a broken toy,
A sleeping mother dreams that she is rocking
    Her fair-haired cherub boy.

Upon the cradle's side her light touch keeping,
She gently rocks it, crooning low a song;
And smiles to think her little one is sleeping,
    So peacefully and long.

Step light, breathe low, break not her rapturous dreaming,
Wake not the sleeper from her trance of joy,
For never more save in sweet slumber-seeming
    Will she watch o'er her boy.

God pity her when from her dream Elysian
She wakes to see the empty crib, and weep;
Knowing her joy was but a sleeper's vision,
    Tread lightly -let her sleep.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Be Not Dismayed

Be not dismayed, be not dismayed when death
Sets its white seal upon some worshipped face.
Poor human nature for a little space
Must suffer anguish, when that last drawn breath
Leaves such long silence; but let not thy faith
    Fail for a moment in God's boundless grace.
    But know, oh know, He has prepared a place
Fairer for our dear dead than worlds beneath,
Yet not beneath; for those entrancing spheres
    Surround our earth as seas a barren isle.
Ours is the region of eternal fears;
    Theirs is the region where God's radiant smile
Shines outward from the centre, and gives hope
Even to those who in the shadows grope.
They are not far from us.    At first though long
    And lone may seem the paths that intervene,
    If ever on the staff of prayer we l...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Her Last Letter

Sitting alone by the window,
    Watching the moonlit street,
Bending my head to listen
    To the well-known sound of your feet,
I have been wondering, darling,
    How I can bear the pain,
When I watch, with sighs and tear-wet eyes,
    And wait for your coming in vain.

For I know that a day approaches
    When your heart will tire of me;
When by door and gate I may watch and wait
    For a form I shall not see;
When the love that is now my heaven,
    The kisses that make my life,
You will bestow on another,
    And that other will be - your wife.

You will grow weary of sinning
    (Though you do not call it so),
You will long for a love that is purer
    Than the love that we two know.
God knows I have loved you dearly,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Dream

In the night I dreamed that you had died,
    And I thought you lay in your winding sheet;
And I kneeled low by your coffin side,
    With my cheek on your heart that had ceased to beat.

And I thought as I looked on your form so still,
    A terrible woe, and an awful pain,
Fierce as vultures that slay and kill,
    Tore at my bosom and maddened my brain.

And then it seemed that the chill of death
    Over me there like a mantle fell,
And I knew by my fluttering, failing breath
    That the end was near, and all was well.

I woke from my dream in the black midnight -
    It was only a dream at worst or best -
But I lay and thought till the dawn of light,
    Had the dream been true we had both been blest.

Better to kneel by your still de...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Divorced

Thinking of one thing all day long, at night
I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore;
But only for a little while.    At three,
Sometimes at two o'clock, I wake and lie,
Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts
Begin the weary treadmill-toil again,
From that white marriage morning of our youth
Down to this dreadful hour.

    I see your face
Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon;
I hear your voice, that lingered on my name
As if it loved each letter; and I feel
The clinging of your arms about my form,
Your kisses on my cheek - and long to break
The anguish of such memories with tears,
But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry.

We were so young, so happy, and so full
Of keen sweet joy of life.    I had no wish
Outside your pleasure;...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox