Love Is Enough

Love is enough.    Let us not ask for gold.
    Wealth breeds false aims, and pride, and selfishness;
In those serene, Arcadian days of old
    Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress.
The gods who dwelt on fair Olympia's height
Lived only for dear love and love's delight.
    Love is enough.

Love is enough.    Why should we care for fame?
    Ambition is a most unpleasant guest:
It lures us with the glory of a name
    Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest.
Let us stay here in this secluded place
Made beautiful by love's endearing grace!
    Love is enough.

Love is enough.    Why should we strive for power?
    It brings men only envy and distrust.
The poor world's homage pleases but an hour,
    And earthly honours vanish in the dust.
The grandest lives are ofttimes desolate;
Let me be loved, and let who will be great.
    Love is enough.

Love is enough.    Why should we ask for more?
    What greater gift have gods vouchsafed to men?
What better boon of all their precious store
    Than our fond hearts that love and love again?
Old love may die; new love is just as sweet;
And life is fair and all the world complete:
    Love is enough!

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

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The Law

The tide of love swells in me with such force,
    It sweeps away all hate and all distrust.
As eddying straws and particles of dust
    Are lost by some swift river in its course.

So much I love my friends, my life, my art,
    Each shadow flies; the light dispels the gloom.
Love is so fair, I find I have no room
    For anything less worthy in my heart.

Love is a germ which we can cultivate -
    To grace and perfume sweeter than the rose,
Or leave neglected while our heart soil grows
    Rank with that vile and poison thistle, hate.

Love is a joyous thrush, that one can teach
    To sing sweet lute-like songs which all may hear.
Or we can silence him and tune the ear
    To caw of crows, or to the vulture's screech.

Love is a feast; ...

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The Choosing Of Esther (From The Drama Of Mizpah)

AHASUERAS

Tell me thy name!

ESTHER

My name, great sire, is Esther.

AHASUERAS

So thou art Esther?    Esther! 'tis a name
Breathed into sound as softly as a sigh.
A woman's name should melt upon the lips
Like Love's first kisses, and thy countenance
Is fit companion for so sweet a name!

ESTHER

Thou art most kind.    I would my name and face
Were mine own making and not accident.
Then I might feel elated at thy praise,
Where now I feel confusion.

AHASUERAS

    Thou hast wit
As well as beauty, Esther.    Both are gems
That do embellish woman in man's sight.
Yet they are gems of second magnitude!
Dost THOU possess the one great perfect gem -
The matchless jewel of the world called LOVE?<...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Couleur De Rose

I want more lives in which to love
    This world so full of beauty,
I want more days to use the ways
    I know of doing duty;
I ask no greater joy than this
    (So much I am life's lover),
When I reach age to turn the page
    And read the story over.
    (O love, stay near!)

O rapturous promise of the Spring!
    O June fulfilling after!
If Autumns sigh, when Summers die,
    'Tis drowned in Winter's laughter.
O maiden dawns, O wifely noons,
    O siren sweet, sweet nights,
I'd want no heaven could earth be given
    Again with its delights
    (If love stayed near).

There are such glories for the eye,
    Such pleasures for the ear,
The senses reel with all they feel
    And see and taste and hear;
There are such ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Realisation

Hers was a lonely, shadowed lot;
Or so the unperceiving thought,
Who looked no deeper than her face,
Devoid of chiselled lines of grace -
No farther than her humble grate,
And wondered how she bore her fate.

Yet she was neither lone nor sad;
So much of love her spirit had,
She found an ever-flowing spring
Of happiness in everything.

So near to her was Nature's heart
It seemed a very living part
Of her own self; and bud and blade,
And heat and cold, and sun and shade,
And dawn and sunset, Spring and Fall,
Held raptures for her, one and all.

The year's four changing seasons brought
To her own door what thousands sought
In wandering ways and did not find -
Diversion and content of mind.

She loved the tasks that filled e...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Love's Supremacy

As yon great Sun in his supreme condition
    Absorbs small worlds and makes them all his own,
So does my love absorb each vain ambition,
    Each outside purpose which my life has known.
Stars cannot shine so near that vast orb'd splendour;
    They are content to feed his flames of fire:
And so my heart is satisfied to render
    Its strength, its all, to meet thy strong desire.

As in a forest when dead leaves are falling
    From all save some perennial green tree,
So one by one I find all pleasures palling
    That are not linked with or enjoyed by thee.
And all the homage that the world may proffer,
    I take as perfumed oils or incense sweet,
And think of it as one thing more to offer,
    And sacrifice to Love, at thy dear feet.

I love myse...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

An Old Man To His Sleeping Young Bride

As when the old moon lighted by the tender
    And radiant crescent of the new is seen,
And for a moment's space suggests the splendor
    Of what in its full prime it once has been,
So on my waning years you cast the glory
    Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour;
And life again seems like an unread story,
    And joy and hope both stir me with their power.

Can blooming June be fond of bleak December?
    I dare not wait to hear my heart reply.
I will forget the question -and remember
    Alone the priceless feast spread for mine eye,
That radiant hair that flows across the pillows,
    Like shimmering sunbeams over drifts of snow;
Those heaving breasts, like undulating billows,
    Whose dangers or delights but Love can know.

That crimson mou...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox