Poems of Experience, Ella Wheeler Wilcox [great reads .txt] 📗

planets are born, We shall pass with sails well furled, And with eager eyes we will scan the skies, For the sights of a new-made world.

From the derelict barque of a sun gone dark, Adrift on our fair ship’s path, A beacon star shall guide us afar, And far from the comet’s wrath.

Oh! many a start of pulse and heart We have felt at the sights of land. But what would we do if the dream came true, And we sighted the Martian strand?

So, if some day you come and say, They are sailing to Mars, I hear. I want you to know I am ready to go, - All ready, my dear, my dear.

FICTION AND FACT

In books I read, how men have lived and died, With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden. While she for whom they long in secret sighed, Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.

In real life, I never chanced to see The woman who was loved, and did not know it, And observation proves this fact to me: No man can love a woman and not show it.

PROGRESS

There is no progress in the world of bees, However wise and wonderful they are. Their wisdom makes not increase. Lies the bar, To wider goals, in that tense strife to please A Sovereign Ruler? Forth from flowers to trees Their little quest is; not from star to star. This is not growth; the mighty avatar Comes not to do his work with such as these.

So in the world of men; when legions toil To feed a Monarch, and begem a crown, They build before high heaven a narrowing wall And the great purpose of Creation spoil. Not on, and upward, is the trend, but down; The Race can rise but with the rise of all.

HOW THE WHITE ROSE CAME

The roses all were pink and red, Before the Bumble Bee, A lover bold, with cloak of gold, Came singing merrily Along the sunlit ways that led From woodland, and from lea.

He paused beside an opening rose, The garden’s pet and pride; She burst in flower that very hour, While wooing zephyrs sighed; No smile had she for one of those, And hope within them died.

The ardent butterfly in vain On radiant wings drew near; The hapless moth in vain grew wroth - The fair rose leaned to hear The deep-voiced stranger’s low refrain That thrilled upon her ear.

She gave her heart in love’s delight And let the whole world see; Alas! one day, away, away, Sped truant Bumble Bee; ‘Twas then the red rose turned to white - So was the tale told me.

I LOOK TO SCIENCE

I look to Science for the cure of Crime; To patient righting of a thousand wrongs; To final healing of a thousand ills. Blind runner now, and cruel egotist It yet leads on to more than mortal sight, And the large knowledge that means humbleness, And tender love for all created things.

I look to Science for the Coming Race Growing from seed selected; and from soil Love fertilised; and pruned by wisdom’s hand, Till out of mortal man spring demi-gods, Strong primal creatures with awakened souls And normal passions, governed by the will, Leaving a trail of glory where they tread.

I look to Science for the growth of faith. That bold denier of accepted creeds - That mighty doubter of accepted truths - Shall yet reveal God’s secrets to the world, And prove the facts it seeks to overthrow. And a new name shall Science henceforth bear - The Great Religion of the Universe.

APPRECIATION

They prize not most the opulence of June Who from the year’s beginning to its close Dwell, where unfading verdure tireless grows, And where sweet summer’s harp is kept in tune. We must have listened to the winter’s rune, And felt impatient longings for the rose, Ere its full radiance on our vision glows, Or with its fragrant soul, we can commune.

Not they most prize life’s blessings, and delights, Who walk in safe and sunny paths alway. But those, who, groping in the darkness, borrow Pale rays from hope, to lead them through the night, And in the long, long watches wait for day. He knows not joy who has not first known sorrow.

THE AWAKENING

I love the tropics, where sun and rain Go forth together, a joyous train, To hold up the green, gay side of the world, And to keep earth’s banners of bloom unfurled.

I love the scents that are hidden there By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air: Strange and subtle and all a-rife, With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.

They steal upon you by night and day, But never a whiff can you take away: And never a song of a tropic bird Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.

And nowhere else can you know the sweet Soft, ‘joy-in-nothing,’ that comes with the heat Of tropic regions. And yet, and yet, If in evergreen worlds my way were set

I would span the waters of widest seas To see the wonder of waking trees; To feel the shock of sudden delight That comes when the orchard has changed in a night, From the winter nun to the bride of May, And the harp of Spring is attuned to play The wedding march, and the sun is priest, And the world is bidden to join the feast.

Oh, never is felt in a tropic clime, Where the singing of birds is a ceaseless chime, That leap o’ the blood, and the rapture thrill, That comes to us here, with the first bird’s trill; And only the eye that has looked on snows Can see the beauty that lies in a rose. The lure of the tropics I understand, But ho! for the Spring in my native land.

MOST BLEST IS HE

Most blest is he who in the morning time Sets forth upon his journey with no staff Shaped by another for his use. Who sees The imminent necessity for toil, And with each morning wakens to the thought Of tasks that wait his doing. Never yet Has unearned leisure and the gift of gold Bestowed such benefits upon the young As need and loneliness; and when life adds The burden of a duty, difficult, And hard to carry, then rejoice, O soul! And know thyself one chosen for high things. Behind thee walk the Helpers. Yet lead on! They only help the lifters, and they give But unto those who also freely give. Not till thy will, thy courage, and thy strength Have done their utmost, and thy love has flowed In pity and compassion, out to all (The worthless, the ungrateful, and the weak, As well as to the worthy and the strong) Canst thou receive invisible support. Do first thy part, and all of it, before Asking the helpers to do aught for thee. For this alone the Universe exists, That man may find himself is Destiny.

NIRVANA

A drop of water risen from the ocean Forgot its cause, and spake with deep emotion Unto a passing breeze. ‘How desolate And all forlorn is my unhappy fate. I know not whence I came, or where I go. Scorched by the sun, or chilled by winds that blow, I dwell in space a little time, then pass Out into the night and nothingness—alas!’

‘Nay,’ quoth the breeze, ‘my friend, that cannot be. Thou dost reflect the Universe to me. Look at thine own true self, and there behold A world of light, all scintillant with gold.’ Just there the drop sank back into the wave From whence it came. Nay, that was not its GRAVE!

It lived, it moved, it was a joyous part Of that strong palpitating ocean heart; Its little dream of loneliness was done; It woke to find, Self, and Cause, were one. So shalt thou wake, sad mortal, when thy course Has run its karmic round, and reached the Source, And even now thou dost reflect the whole Of God’s great glory in thy shining soul.

LIFE

Oh! I feel the growing glory Of our life upon this sphere, Of the life that like a river Runs forever and forever, From the somewhere to the here, And still on and onward flowing, Leads us out to larger knowing, Through the hidden, to the clear.

And I feel a deep thanksgiving For the sorrows I have known; For the worries and the crosses, And the grieving and the losses, That along my path were sown. Now the great eternal meaning Of each trouble I am gleaning, And the harvest is my own.

I am opulent with knowledge Of the Purpose and the Cause. And I go my way rejoicing, And in singing seek the voicing Of love’s never-failing laws. From the now, unto the Yonder, Full of beauty and of wonder, Life flows ever without pause.

And I feel the exaltation Of a child that loves its play, Though the ranks of friends are thinning, Still the end is but beginning Of a larger, fuller day, And the joy of life is spilling From my spirit, as all willing I go speeding on my way.

TWO MEN

So much one thought about the life beyond He did not drain the waters of his pond; And when death laid his children ‘neath the sod He called it—‘the mysterious will of God.’ He would not strive for worldly gain, not he. His wealth, he said, was stored in God’s To Be. He kept his mortal body poorly drest, And talked about the garments of the blest. And when to his last sleep he laid him down, His only mourner begged her widow’s gown.

One was not sure there was a life to come, So made an Eden of his earthly home. He strove for wealth, and with an open hand He comforted the needy in his land. He wore new garments often, and the old Helped many a brother to keep out the cold. He said this life was such a little span Man ought to make the most of it,—for man. And when he died the fortune that he left Gave succour to the needy and bereft.

ONLY BE STILL

‘Only be still, and in the silence grow,’ If thou art seeking what the gods bestow. This is the simple, safe, and certain way That leads to knowledge for which all men pray Of higher laws to govern things below.

But in our restless discontent we go With noisy importuning day on day - Drowning the inner voice that strives to say ‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’

We doubt, we cavil, and we talk of woe - We delve in books, and waste our forces so; We cling to creeds that were not meant to stay, And close our ears to Truth’s immortal lay. Oh wouldst thou see, and understand, and know? ‘Only be still, and in the silence grow.’

PARDONED OUT

I’m pardoned out. Again the stars Shine on me with their myriad eyes. So long I’ve peered ‘twixt iron bars, I’m awed by this expanse of skies. The world is wider than I thought, And yet ‘tis not so wide, I know, But into its remotest spot My tale of shame can go.

I’m pardoned out. Old Father Time Who seemed to halt in horror, when I stained my manhood by a crime, With steady step moves on again, And through the black appalling night, That walled me in a gloom accurst, The wonder of the morning light In sudden glory burst.

I’m pardoned out. I shall be known No more by number, but by name. And yet each whispering wind has blown Abroad the story of my shame. I dread to see men shrink