Saturday

Now with the almost finished task make haste.
So near the night thou hast no time to waste.
Post up accounts, and let thy Soul's eyes look
For flaws and errors in Life's ledger-book.
    When labours cease,
    How sweet the sense of peace!

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 Reason

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

By-And-Bye

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Just You

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

To Marry Or Not To Marry? A Girl's Reverie

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.

Poems Of The Week

SUNDAY

Lie still and rest, in that serene repose
That on this holy morning comes to those
Who have been burdened with the cares which make
The sad heart weary and the tired head ache.
    Lie still and rest -
    God's day of all is best.

MONDAY

Awake! arise!    Cast off thy drowsy dreams!
Red in the East, behold the Morning gleams.
"As Monday goes, so goes the week," dames say.
Refreshed, renewed, use well the initial day.
    And see! thy neighbour
    Already seeks his labour.

TUESDAY

Another morning's banners are unfurled -
Another day looks smiling on the world.
It holds new laurels for thy soul to win;
Mar not its grace by slothfulness or sin,
    Nor sad, away,
    Send it to yesterday.

WEDNES...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Friday

From feasts abstain; be temperate, and pray;
Fast if thou wilt; and yet, throughout the day,
Neglect no labour and no duty shirk:
Not many hours are left thee for thy work -
    And it were meet
    That all should be complete.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Thursday

So well the week has sped, hast thou a friend,
Go spend an hour in converse.    It will lend
New beauty to thy labours and thy life
To pause a little sometimes in the strife.
    Toil soon seems rude
    That has no interlude.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Time Enough

I know it is early morning,
    And hope is calling aloud,
And your heart is afire with Youth's desire
    To hurry along with the crowd.
But linger a bit by the roadside,
    And lend a hand by the way,
'Tis a curious fact that a generous act
Brings leisure and luck to a day.

I know it is only the noontime -
    There is chance enough to be kind;
But the hours run fast when noon has passed,
    And the shadows are close behind.
So think while the light is shining,
    And act ere the set of the sun,
For the sorriest woe that a soul can know
    Is to think what it might have done.

I know it is almost evening,
    But the twilight hour is long.
If you listen and heed each cry of need
    You can right full many a wrong.
For when...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

High Noon

Time's finger on the dial of my life
Points to high noon! and yet the half-spent day
Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,
Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.
To those who burn the candle to the stick,
The sputtering socket yields but little light.
Long life is sadder than an early death.
We cannot count on ravelled threads of age
Whereof to weave a fabric.    We must use
The warp and woof the ready present yields
And toil while daylight lasts.    When I bethink
How brief the past, the future, still more brief
Calls on to action, action!    Not for me
Is time for retrospection or for dreams,
Not time for self-laudation or remorse.
Have I done nobly?    Then I must not let
Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.
Have I done wrong?    Well, l...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

High Noon

Time's finger on the dial of my life
Points to high noon! and yet the half-spent day
Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,
Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.

To those who burn the candle to the stick,
The sputtering socket yields but little light.
Long life is sadder than an early death.
We cannot count on raveled threads of age
Whereof to weave a fabric. We must use
The warp and woof the ready present yields
And toil while daylight lasts. When I bethink
How brief the past, the future still more brief,
Calls on to action, action! Not for me
Is time for retrospection or for dreams,
Not time for self-laudation or remorse.
Have I done nobly? Then I must not let
Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.
Have I done wrong? Well, let the bit...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox