How The White Rose Came

The roses all were pink and red,
Before the Bumble Bee,
A lover bold, with cloak of gold,
Came singing merrily
Along the sunlit ways that led
From woodland, and from lea.

He paused beside an opening rose,
The garden's pet and pride;
She burst in flower that very hour,
While wooing zephyrs sighed;
No smile had she for one of those,
And hope within them died.

The ardent butterfly in vain
On radiant wings drew near;
The hapless moth in vain grew wroth -
The fair rose leaned to hear
The deep-voiced stranger's low refrain
That thrilled upon her ear.

She gave her heart in love's delight
And let the whole world see;
Alas! one day, away, away,
Sped truant Bumble Bee;
'Twas then the red rose turned to white -
So was the tale told me.

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

Knowledge

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Song. (Excerpt from "Maurine")

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Wanted - A Little Girl

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

An Inspiration

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

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The Gossips

A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest,
    Was hanging her head through the long golden hours;
And early one morning I saw her tears falling,
    And heard a low gossiping talk in the bowers.

The yellow Nasturtium, a spinster all faded,
    Was telling a Lily what ailed the poor Rose:
'That wild, roving Bee, who was hanging about her
    Has jilted her squarely, as every one knows.

'I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing,
    His airs and his speeches, so fine and so sweet,
Just how it would end; but no one would believe me,
    For all were quite ready to fall at his feet.'

'Indeed, you are wrong,' said the Lilybelle proudly,
    'I cared nothing for him.    He called on me once
And would have come often, no doubt, if I'd asked him....

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Gossips

A rose in my garden, the sweetest and fairest,
    Was hanging her head through the long golden hours;
And early one morning I saw her tears falling,
    And heard a low gossiping talk in the bowers.
The yellow Nasturtium, a spinster all faded,
    Was telling a Lily what ailed the poor Rose:
"That wild roving Bee who was hanging about her,
    Has jilted her squarely, as every one knows.

"I knew when he came, with his singing and sighing,
    His airs and his speeches so fine and so sweet,
Just how it would end; but no one would believe me,
    For all were quite ready to fall at his feet."
"Indeed, you are wrong," said the Lily-belle proudly,
    "I cared nothing for him; he called on me once,
And would have come often, no doubt, if I'd asked him,
    But t...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two Roses

A humble wild-rose, pink and slender,
    Was plucked and placed in a bright bouquet,
Beside a Jacqueminot's royal splendour,
    And both in my lady's boudoir lay.

Said the haughty bud, in a tone of scorning,
    "I wonder why you are called a rose?
Your leaves will fade in a single morning;
    No blood of mine in your pale cheek glows.

"Your coarse green stalk shows dust of the highway,
    You have no depths of fragrant bloom;
And what could you learn in a rustic byway
    To fit you to lie in my lady's room?

"If called to adorn her warm, white bosom,
    What have you to offer for such a place,
Beside my fragrant and splendid blossom,
    Ripe with colour and rich with grace?"

Said the sweet wild-rose, "Despite your dower
    ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Reminiscence.

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose
    A wee one, that grows
Down low on the bush, where her sisters above
    Cannot see all that's done
    As the moments roll on.
Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.

They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun,
    And they flirt, every one,
With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.
    And that wee thing in pink -
    Why, they never once think
That she's won a lover right under their eyes.

It reminded me, Kate, of a time - you know when!
    You were so petite then,
Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.
    Your sisters, Maud-Belle
    And Madeline - well,
They both set their caps for me, after that ball.

How the blue eyes and black eyes s...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Reminiscence

I saw the wild honey-bee kissing a rose
    A wee one, that grows
Down low on the bush, where her sisters above
    Cannot see all that's done
    As the moments roll on.
Nor hear all the whispers and murmurs of love.

They flaunt out their beautiful leaves in the sun,
    And they flirt, every one,
With the wild bees who pass, and the gay butterflies.
    And that wee thing in pink -
    Why, they never once think
That she's won a lover right under their eyes.

It reminded me, Kate, of a time - you know when!
    You were so petite then,
Your dresses were short, and your feet were so small.
    Your sisters, Maud-Belle
    And Madeline - well,
They BOTH set their caps for me, after that ball.

How the blue eyes and black eyes smiled u...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Double Carnations

    A wild Pink nestled in a garden bed,
A rich Carnation flourished high above her,
    One day he chanced to see her pretty head
And leaned and looked again, and grew to love her.

    The Moss (her humble mother) saw with fear
The ardent glances of the princely stranger;
    With many an anxious thought and dewy tear
She sought to hide her darling from this danger.

    The gardener-guardian of this noble bud
A cruel trellis interposed between them.
    No common Pink should mate with royal blood,
He said, and sought in every way to wean them.

    The poor Pink pined and faded day by day:
Her restless lover from his prison bower
    Called in a priestly bee who passed that way,
And sent a message to the sorrowing flower.

    The fainti...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox