No Song

These summer days when all the poets sing
    I have no voice for song.
I see the birds of summer taking wing,
    And days so sweet and long,
Each seemed a little heaven with no end,
I know are gone for evermore, dear friend.

Nay, by and by comes another Spring;
    And long, sweet, perfect days.
And by and by I shall have voice to sing
    My old glad, happy lays.
More blithesome songs, more days that have no end;
More golden summers; but like thee no friend.

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

Battle Hymn Of The Women

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

The Times

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Happiness

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

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Summer's Farewell

All in the time when Earth did most deplore
    The cold, ungracious aspect of young May,
Sweet Summer came, and bade him smile once more;
    She wove bright garlands, and in winsome play
    She bound him willing captive.    Day by day
She found new wiles wherewith his heart to please;
    Or bright the sun, or if the skies were gray,
They laughed together, under spreading trees,
By running brooks, or on the sandy shores of seas.

They were but comrades.    To that radiant maid
    No serious word he spake; no lovers' plea.
Like careless children, glad and unafraid,
    They sported in their opulence of glee.
    Her shining tresses floated wild and free;
In simple lines her emerald garments hung;
    She was both good to hear, and fair to see;
And when...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Songs Of A Country Home

I

Who has not felt his heart leap up, and glow
What time the Tulips first begin to blow,
Has one sweet joy still left for him to know.

It is like early love's imagining,
That fragile pleasure which the Tulips bring,
When suddenly we see them, in the Spring.

Not all the garden's later royal train,
Not great triumphant Roses, when they reign,
Can bring that delicate delight again.

II

One of the sweetest hours is this;
(Of all I think we like it best);
A little restful oasis,
Between the breakfast and the post.
Just south of coffee and of toast,
Just north of daily task and duty;
Just west of dreams, this island gleams,
A fertile spot of peace and beauty.

We wander out across the lawn;
We idle by a bush in b...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Returned Birds

My heart to-day is like a southern wood,
    Through summer months it has been drunk with heat;
    And slumbered on unmindful of the beat
Of life beyond it: sleep alone seemed good.

Now milder Autumn's tints are in the sky;
    The fervid heats of summer noons depart;
    And backward to the old haunts in my heart
The golden robins and the blue birds fly.

I hear the flutter of their airy wings,
    They flock about the Spring's deserted nest,
    And suddenly I feel within my breast
The stirring of sweet half-forgotten things.

Bright sunny mornings -golden growing hours -
    The building of glad birds among the trees;
    Wide open windows and the kindly breeze
Bringing the perfume of half-open flowers.

A blithe face at the window fai...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Reminders

When in the early dawn I hear the thrushes,
    And like a flood of waters o'er my heart
The memory of another summer rushes,
    How can I rise up, and perform my part?

When in the languid eve I hear the wailing
    Of the uncomforted sad mourning dove,
Whose grief, like mine, seems deep as unavailing,
    What will I do with all this wealth of love?

When the sweet rain falls over hills and meadows,
    And the tall poplar's silver leaves are wet,
And, like my soul, the world seems draped in shadow,
    How shall I hush this passionate regret?

When the wild bee is wooing the red clover,
    And the fair rose smiles on the butterfly,
Missing thy smile and kiss, O love, my lover,
    Who on God's earth so desolate as I?

My tortured sense...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

So Long

The dawn grows red in the eastern sky,
    (Long, so long is the day,)
And I lean from my lattice and sigh and sigh,
As I watch the night fog creeping by
    And vanish over the bay.

The thrush soars up, over green clad hills,
    (The day is long, so long;)
Like liquid silver his music spills,
And ever it quivers, and runs, and trills
    In a glad sweet burst of song.

Under my window there blooms a rose,
    (How long a day can be.)
And I lean and whisper what no soul knows
Of my heart's sorrows and secret woes,
    And the red rose sighs, 'Ah me!'

A ship sails into the waiting bay,
    (The day is long, alack,)
But what would that matter to me, I pray
If the ship that sailed out yesterday
    Should never more come back.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Rondeau

As you forgot I may forget,
When summer dews cease to be wet.
    When whippoorwills disdain the night,
    When sun and moon are no more bright,
And all the stars at midnight set.

When jay birds sing, and thrushes fret,
When snowfalls come in flakes of jet,
    When hearts that shelter love are light,
    I may forget.

When mortal life no cares beset,
When April brings no violet,
    When wrong no longer wars with right,
    When all hope's ships shall heave in sight,
And memory holds no least regret,
    I may forget.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox