The Squanderer

God gave him passions, splendid as the sun,
Meant for the lordliest purposes; a part
Of nature's full and fertile mother heart,
From which new systems and new stars are spun.
And now, behold, behold, what he has done!
    In Folly's court and carnal Pleasures' mart
    He flung the wealth life gave him at the start.
(This, of all mortal sins, the deadliest one.)

At dawn he stood, potential, opulent,
    With virile manhood, and emotions keen,
    And wonderful with God's creative fire.
At noon he stands, with Love's large fortune spent
    In petty traffic, unproductive, mean -
    A pauper, cursed with impotent desire.

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

What The Rain Saw

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Prayer

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Realisation

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

The Empty Bowl

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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The Voluptuary.

Oh, I am sick of love reciprocated,
    Of hopes fulfilled, ambitions gratified.
Life holds no thing to be anticipated,
    And I am sad from being satisfied.

The eager joy felt climbing up the mountain
    Has left me now the highest point is gained.
The crystal spray that fell from Fame's fair fountain
    Was sweeter than the waters were when drained.

The gilded apple which the world calls pleasure,
    And which I purchased with my youth and strength,
Pleased me a moment. But the empty treasure
    Lost all its lustre, and grew dim at length.

And love, all glowing with a golden glory,
    Delighted me a season with its tale.
It pleased the longest, but at last the story
    So oft repeated, to my heart grew stale.

I lived for self, ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Decadent

Among the virile hosts he passed along,
Conspicuous for an undetermined grace
Of sexless beauty.    In his form and face
God's mighty purpose somehow had gone wrong.
Then on his loom, he wove a careful song,
    Of sensuous threads; a wordy web of lace
    Wherein the primal passions of the race
And his own sins made wonder for the throng.

A little pen prick opened up a vein,
    And gave the finished mesh a crimson blot -
    The last consummate touch of studied art.
But those who knew strong passion and keen pain,
    Looked through and through the pattern and found not
    One single great emotion of the heart.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two Sunsets

In the fair morning of his life,
    When his pure heart lay in his breast,
    Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world's strife

That fills young hearts with mad desire,
    He saw a sunset.    Red and gold
    The burning billows surged and rolled,
And upward tossed their caps of fire.

He looked.    And as he looked, the sight
    Sent from his soul through breast and brain
    Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.
His heart seemed bursting with delight.

So near the Unknown seemed, so close
    He might have grasped it with his hands
    He felt his inmost soul expand,
As sunlight will expand a rose

One day he heard a singing strain -
    A human voice, in bird-like trills.
    He paused, and little r...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two Sunsets.

In the fair morning of his life,
    When his pure heart lay in his breast,
    Panting, with all that wild unrest
To plunge into the great world's strife

That fills young hearts with mad desire,
    He saw a sunset. Red and gold
    The burning billows surged and rolled,
And upward tossed their caps of fire.

He looked. And as he looked, the sight
    Sent from his soul through breast and brain
    Such intense joy, it hurt like pain.
His heart seemed bursting with delight.

So near the Unknown seemed, so close
    He might have grasped it with his hand.
    He felt his inmost soul expand,
As sunlight will expand a rose.

One day he heard a singing strain -
    A human voice, in bird-like trills.
    He paused, and little raptur...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Burdened

"Genius, a man's weapon, a woman's burden." - Lamartine.

Dear God! there is no sadder fate in life
    Than to be burdened so that you can not
    Sit down contented with the common lot
Of happy mother and devoted wife.

To feel your brain wild and your bosom rife
    With all the sea's commotion; to be fraught
    With fires and frenzies which you have not sought,
And weighed down with the wild world's weary strife;

To feel a fever always in your breast;
    To lean and hear, half in affright, half shame,
    A loud-voiced public boldly mouth your name;
To reap your hard-sown harvest in unrest,
    And know, however great your meed of fame,
You are but a weak woman at the best.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Idler.

    If but one spark of honest zeal
    Flashes to life within his breast -
    A feeble, flick'ring spark at best;
    If for a moment he doth feel
    A dim desire to throw aside
    The bonds that idleness has wrought,
    To do, to be the man he ought,
    The tyrant thing he calls his pride -

    The curse of all things good on earth -
    Takes on the cruel midwife's role,
    And each high impulse of the soul
    Is strangled in the hour of birth.
    "To dig I am ashamed," quoth he;
    "Mine is the pride of name and race
    That scorns to fill such humble space -
    Life's lowly tasks are not for me."

    Oh, he can flatter with his tongue,
    Can toady to the rich and great,
    Can fawn on those he feels to hate,
    Un...

Jean Blewett