Two Rooms

One room is full of luxury, and dim
    With that soft moonlit radiance of light
That she best loves, who sits and dreams of him
    Her heart has crowned as knight.

And one is bare, and comfortless, and dim
    With that strange, fitful glimmer that is shed
By candles casting shadows weird and grim,
    Above the sheeted dead.

In one, a round and beautiful young face
    Is full of wordless rapture; and so fair
You know her breast is joy's best dwelling-place;
    You know sweet love is there.

In one, there lies a white and wasted face
    Whereon is frozen such supreme despair,
You need but look to know what left the trace;
    You know love has been there.

To one he comes!    She leans her head of gold
    Upon his breast and bids him no more roam.
Ah God!    Ah God! and one lies stark and cold,
    Because he ceased to come.

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

I Am Running Forth To Meet You

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

Neutral

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

A Ballade Of The Unborn Dead

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

The Spur

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Simple Poetry

English

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The Other

All alone with my heart to-night
    I sit, and wonder, and sigh.
What is she like, is she dark, or light,
This other woman who has the right
    To love him better than I?

We never have spoken her name, we two;
    There was no need somehow,
But she lives, and loves, and her heart is true;
From the very first this much I knew,
    So why should it hurt me now.

I fancy her tall, and I think her fair,
    Oh! fairer than I by half.
With sweet, calm eyes, and a wealth of hair,
And a heart as perfectly free from care
    As is her silvery laugh.

She loves rich jewels that flash in the light,
    And revels in costly lace,
And first in the morning, and last at night
She kisses one ring on her finger white;
    (How came those tears...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

After

After the end that is drawing near
    Comes, and I no more see your face
Worn with suffering, lying here,
    What shall I do with the empty place?

You are so weary, that if I could
    I would not hinder, I would not keep
The great Creator of all things good,
    From giving his own beloved sleep.

But over and over I turn this thought.
    After they bear you away to the tomb,
And banish the glasses, and move the cot,
    What shall I do with the empty room?

And when you are lying at rest, my own,
    Hidden away in the grass and flowers,
And I listen in vain for your sigh and moan,
    What shall I do with the silent hours?

O God!    O God! in the great To Be
    What canst Thou give me to compensate
For the terrible silenc...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Two Nights

(Suggested by the lives of Napoleon and Josephine.)


I.

One night was full of rapture and delight -
    Of reunited arms and swooning kisses,
    And all the unnamed and unnumbered blisses
Which fond souls find in love of love at night.

Heart beat with heart, and each clung into each
    With twining arms that did but loose their hold
    To cling still closer; and fond glances told
These truths for which there is no uttered speech.

There was sweet laughter and endearing words,
    Made broken by the kiss that could not wait,
    And cooing sounds as of dear little birds
That in spring-time love and woo and mate.

And languid sighs that breathed of love's content
And all too soon this night of rapture went.


II.

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

Her Last Letter

Sitting alone by the window,
    Watching the moonlit street,
Bending my head to listen
    To the well-known sound of your feet,
I have been wondering, darling,
    How I can bear the pain,
When I watch, with sighs and tear-wet eyes,
    And wait for your coming in vain.

For I know that a day approaches
    When your heart will tire of me;
When by door and gate I may watch and wait
    For a form I shall not see;
When the love that is now my heaven,
    The kisses that make my life,
You will bestow on another,
    And that other will be - your wife.

You will grow weary of sinning
    (Though you do not call it so),
You will long for a love that is purer
    Than the love that we two know.
God knows I have loved you dearly,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Reincarnation

He slept as weary toilers do,
    She gazed up at the moon.
He stirred and said, "Wife, come to bed";
    She answered, "Soon, full soon."
(Oh! that strange mystery of the dead moon's face.)

Her cheek was wan, her wistful mouth
    Was lifted like a cup,
The moonful night dripped liquid light:
    She seemed to quaff it up.
(Oh! that unburied corpse that lies in space.)

Her life had held but drudgery -
    She spelled her Bible thro';
Of books and lore she knew no more
    Than little children do.
(Oh! the weird wonder of that pallid sphere.)

Her youth had been a loveless waste,
    Starred by no holiday.
And she had wed for roof, and bread;
    She gave her work in pay.
(Oh! the moon-memories, vague and strange and dear.)

Ella Wheeler Wilcox