104 Total Quotes

Ella Wilcox Quotes Page 3

If I could clasp my little babe Upon my breast to-night, I would not mind the blowing wind That shrieketh in affright. Oh, my lost babe! my little babe, My babe with dreamful eyes; Thy bed is cold; and night wind bold Shrieks woeful lullabies. My breast is softer than the sod; This room, with lighter hearth, Is better place for thy sweet face Than frozen mother eatrth. Oh, my babe! oh, my lost babe! Oh, babe with waxen hands, I want thee so, I need thee so - Come from thy mystic lands! No love that, like a mother's fills Each corner of the heart; No loss like hers, that rends, and chills, And tears the soul apart. Oh, babe - my babe, my helpless babe! I miss thy little form. Would I might creep where thou dost sleep, And clasp thee through the storm. I hold thy pillow to my breast, To bring a vague relief; I sing the songs that soothed thy rest - Ah me! no cheating grief. My breathing babe! my sobbing babe! I miss thy plaintive moan, I cannot hear - thou art not near - My little one, my own. Thy father sleeps. He mourns thy loss, But little fathers know The pain that makes a mother toss Through sleepless nights of woe. My clinging babe! my nursing babe! What knows thy father - man - How my breasts miss thy lips' soft kiss - None but a mother can.
Ella Wilcox
#Mothers Day

In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my head and rejoice, And I thank the great Giver for giving The soul of my gladness a voice. In the glow of the glorious weather, In the sweet-scented, sensuous air, My burdens seem light as a feather - They are nothing to bear. In the strength and the glory of power, In the pride and the pleasure of wealth (For who dares dispute me my dower Of talents and youth-time and health?) , I can laugh at the world and its sages - I am greater than seers who are sad, For he is most wise in all ages Who knows how to be glad. I lift up my eyes to Apollo, The god of the beautiful days, And my spirit soars off like a swallow, And is lost in the light of its rays. Are tou troubled and sad? I beseech you Come out of the shadows of strife - Come out in the sun while I teach you The secret of life. Come out of the world - come above it - Up over its crosses and graves, Though the green earth is fair and I love it, We must love it as masters, not slaves. Come up where the dust never rises - But only the perfume of flowers - And your life shall be glad with surprises Of beautiful hours. Come up where the rare golden wine is Apollo distills in my sight, And your life shall be happy as mine is, And as full of delight.
Ella Wilcox
#Famous #Poems about Life #Song

I love your lips when they're wet with wine And red with a wild desire; I love your eyes when the lovelight lies Lit with a passionate fire. I love your arms when the warm white flesh Touches mine in a fond embrace; I love your hair when the strands enmesh Your kisses against my face. Not for me the cold calm kiss Of a virgin's bloodless love; Not for me the saint's white bliss, Nor the heart of a spotless dove. But give me the love that so freely gives And laughs at the whole world's blame, With your body so young and warm in my arms, It sets my poor heart aflame. So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth, Still fragrant with ruby wine, And say with a fervor born of the South That your body and soul are mine. Clasp me close in your warm young arms, While the pale stars shine above, And we'll live our whole young lives away In the joys of a living love.
Ella Wilcox
#Famous #Kisses And Kissing #Love #Popular

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it. Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can. No heart so hard, but love at last may win it. Love is the great primæval cause of man. All hate is foreign to the first great plan. Love much. Your heart will be led out to slaughter, On altars built of envy and deciet. Love on, love on! 'tis bread upon the water; It shall be cast in loaves yet at your feet, Unleavened manna, most divinely sweet. Love much. Your faith will be dethroned and shaken, Your trust betrayed by many a fair, false lure. Remount your faith, and let new trusts awaken. Though clouds obscure them, yet the stars are pure; Love is a vital force and must endure. Love much. Men's souls contract with cold suspicion; Shine on them with warm love, and they expand. 'Tis love, not creeds, that from a low condition Leads mankind up to heights supreme and grand. Oh that the world could see and understand! Love much. There is no waste in freely giving; More blessed is it, even, than to receive. He who loves much alone finds life worth living: Love on, through doubt and darkness; and believe There is no thing which Love may not achieve.
Ella Wilcox
#Famous #Love #Popular

So vast the tide of Love within me surging, It overflows like some stupendous sea, The confines of the Present and To-be; And 'gainst the Past's high wall I feel it urging, As it would cry "Thou too shalt yield to me!" All other loves my supreme love embodies; I would be she on whose soft bosom nursed Thy clinging infant lips to quench their thirst; She who trod close to hidden worlds where God is, That she might have, and hold, and see thee first. I would be she who stirred the vague fond fancies, Of thy still childish heart; who through bright days Went sporting with thee in the old-time plays, And caught the sunlight of thy boyish glances In half-forgotten and long-buried Mays. Forth to the end, and back to the beginning, My love would send its inundating tide, Wherein all landmarks of thy past should hide. If thy life's lesson must be learned through sinning, My grieving virtue would become thy guide. For I would share the burden of thy errors, So when the sun of our brief life had set, If thou didst walk in darkness and regret, E'en in that shadowy world of nameless terrors, My soul and thine should be companions yet. And I would cross with thee those troubled oceans Of dark remorse whose waters are despair: All things my jealous reckless love would dare, So that thou mightst not recollect emotions In which it did not have a part and share. There is no limit to my love's full measure, Its spirit gold is shaped by earth's alloy; I would be friend and mother, mate and toy, I'd have thee look to me for every pleasure, And in me find all memories of joy. Yet though I love thee in such selfish fashion, I would wait on thee, sitting at thy feet, And serving thee, if thou didst deem it meet. And couldst thou give me one fond hour of passion, I'd take that hour and call my life complete.
Ella Wilcox
#Poems about Women #Love #Love Poems for Her

However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes With fluttering flags and prancing nags And echoing roll of drums. Still truth proclaims this motto, In letters of living light, - No Question is ever settled, Until it is settled right. Though the heel of the strong oppressor May grind the weak to dust, And the voices of fame with one acclaim May call him great and just, Let those who applaud take warning, And keep this motto in sight, - No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Let those who have failed take courage; Tho' the enemy seems to have won, Tho' his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong The battle is not yet done; For, as sure as the morning follows The darkest hour of the night, No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. O man bowed down with labor! O woman, young, yet old! O heart oppressed in the toiler's breast And crushed by the power of gold! Keep on with your weary battle Against triumphant might; No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.
Ella Wilcox
#inspirational

Don't look for the flaws as you go through life; And even when you find them, It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind And look for the virtue behind them. For the cloudiest night has a hint of light Somewhere in its shadows hiding; It is better by far to hunt for a star, Than the spots on the sun abiding. The current of life runs ever away To the bosom of God's great ocean. Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course And think to alter its motion. Don't waste a curse on the universe - Remember it lived before you. Don't butt at the storm with your puny form, But bend and let it go o'er you. The world will never adjust itself To suit your whims to the letter. Some things must go wrong your whole life long, And the sooner you know it the better. It is folly to fight with the Infinite, And go under at last in the wrestle; The wiser man shapes into God's plan As water shapes into a vessel.
Ella Wilcox
#Famous #Poems about Life

I prayed for riches, and achieved success; All that I touched turned into gold. Alas! My cares were greater and my peace was less, When that wish came to pass. I prayed for glory, and I heard my name Sung by sweet children and by hoary men. But ah! the hurts - the hurts that come with fame. I was not happy then. I prayed for Love, and had my heart's desire. Through quivering heart and body, and through brain, There swept the flame of its devouring fire, And but the scars remain. I prayed for a contented mind. At length Great light upon my darkened spirit burst. Great peace fell on me also, and great strength - Oh, had that prayer been first!
Ella Wilcox
#Prayer

Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue In phrases unwritten and measures unsung, As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea, Is the song that my spirit is singing to me. In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver, In the roar of the surf, and the rush of the river, In the rustle of leaves and the fall of the rain, And on the low breezes I catch the refrain. From the vapours that frame and envelop the earth, And beyond, from the realms where my spirit had birth, From the mists of the land and the fogs of the sea, For ever and ever the songs come to me. I know not its wording - its import I know - For the rhythm is broken, the measure runs low, When vexed or allured by the things of this life My soul is merged into its pleasures or strife. When up to the hill tops of beauty and light My soul like a lark in the ether takes flight, And the white gates of heaven shine brighter and nearer, The song of the spirit grows sweeter and clearer. Up, up to the realms where no mortal has trod - Into space and infinity near to my God - With whiteness, and silence, and beautiful things, I am bourne when the voice of eternity sings. When once in the winds or the dropp of the rain Thy spirit shall listen and hear the refrain, Thy soul shall soar up like a bird on the breeze, And the things that have pleased thee will never more please.
Ella Wilcox
#Song

Soar not too high, O bird of Hope! Because the skies are fair; The tempest may come on apace And overcome thee there. When far above the mountain tops Thou soarest, over all - If, then, the storm should press thee back, How great would be thy fall! And thou wouldst lie here at my feet, A poor and lifeless thing, - A torn and bleeding birdling, With limp and broken wing. Sing not too loud, O bird of Hope! Because the day is bright; The sunshine cannot always last - The morn precedes the night. And if thy song is of the day, Then when the day grows dim, Forlorn and voiceless thou wouldst sit Among the shadows grim. Oh! I would have thee soar and sing, But not too high, or loud, Remembering that day meets night - The brilliant sun the cloud.
Ella Wilcox
#Hope

You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life's unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And earth's dim coast-line seems a thing to fear. You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea.
Ella Wilcox
#Moon

The uses of sorrow I comprehend Better and better at each year's end. Deeper and deeper I seem to see Why and wherefore it has to be Only after the dark, wet days Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright rays. Sweeter the crust tastes after the fast Than the sated gourmand's finest repast. The faintest cheer sounds never amiss To the actor who once has heard a hiss. To one who the sadness of freedom knows, Light seem the fetters love may impose. And he who has dwelt with his heart alone, Hears all the music in friendship's tone. So better and better I comprehend, How sorrow ever would be our friend.
Ella Wilcox
#Sorrow

All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, And there is gain in this. We do not always win the race, By only running right, We have to tread the mountain's base Before we reach its height. The Christs alone no errors made; So often had they trod The paths that lead through light and shade, They had become as God. As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again, They passed along the way, And left those mighty truths which men But dimly grasp to-day. But he who loves himself the last And knows the use of pain, Though strewn with errors all his past, He surely shall attain. Some souls there are that needs must taste Of wrong, ere choosing right; We should not call those years a waste Which led us to the light.
Ella Wilcox
#Life #Poems about Life

Though with gods the world is cumbered, Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered, Never god was known to be Who had not his devotee. So I dedicate to mine, Here in verse, my temple-shrine. 'Tis not Ares, - mighty Mars, Who can give success in wars. 'Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep Guard above us while we sleep, 'Tis not Venus, she whose duty 'Tis to give us love and beauty; Hail to these, and others, after Momus, gleesome god of laughter. Quirinus would guard my health, Plutus would insure me wealth; Mercury looks after trade, Hera smiles on youth and maid. All are kind, I own their worth, After Momus, god of mirth. Though Apollo, out of spite, Hides away his face of light, Though Minerva looks askance, Deigning me no smiling glance, Kings and queens may envy me While I claim the god of glee. Wisdom wearies, Love had wings - Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings, Glory proves a thorny crown - So all gifts the gods throw down Bring their pains and troubles after; All save Momus, god of laughter. He alone gives constant joy. Hail to Momus, happy boy.
Ella Wilcox
#God

Life is a privilege. Its youthful days Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays. To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire, To feed with dreams the heart's perpetual fire, To thrill with virtuous passions, and to glow With great ambitions - in one hour to know The depths and heights of feeling - God! in truth, How beautiful, how beautiful is youth! Life is a privilege. Like some rare rose The mysteries of the human mind unclose. What marvels lie in the earth, and air, and sea! What stores of knowledge wait our opening key! What sunny roads of happiness lead out Beyond the realms of indolence and doubt! And what large pleasures smile upon and bless The busy avenues of usefulness! Life is a privilege. Thought the noontide fades And shadows fall along the winding glades, Though joy-blooms wither in the autumn air, Yet the sweet scent of sympathy is there. Pale sorrow leads us closer to our kind, And in the serious hours of life we find Depths in the souls of men which lend new worth And majesty to this brief span of earth. Life is a privilege. If some sad fate Sends us alone to seek the exit gate, If men forsake us and as shadows fall, Still does the supreme privilege of all Come in that reaching upward of the soul To find the welcoming Presence at the goal, And in the Knowledge that our feet have trod Paths that led from, and must wind back, to God.
Ella Wilcox
#Famous #Poems about Life

Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy, Is inspiration, eager to pursue, But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy, Who gives herself to him who best doth woo. Once she may smile, or thrice, thy soul to fire, In passing by, but when she turns her face, Thou must persist and seek her with desire, If thou wouldst win the favor of her grace. And if, like some winged bird she cleaves the air, And leaves thee spent and stricken on the earth, Still must thou strive to follow even there, That she may know thy valor and thy worth. Then shall she come unveiling all her charms, Giving thee joy for pain, and smiles for tears; Then shalt thou clasp her with possessing arms, The while she murmurs music in thine ears. But ere her kiss has faded from thy cheek, She shall flee from thee over hill and glade, So must thou seek and ever seek and seek For each new conquest of this phantom maid.
Ella Wilcox
#inspirational

This is the place that I love the best, A little brown house, like a ground-bird's nest, Hid among grasses, and vines, and trees, Summer retreat of the birds and bees. The tenderest light that ever was seen Sifts through the vine-made window screen-- Sifts and quivers, and flits and falls On home-made carpets and gray-hung walls. All through June the west wind free The breath of clover brings to me. All through the languid July day I catch the scent of new-mown hay. The morning-glories and scarlet vine Over the doorway twist and twine; And every day, when the house is still, The humming-bird comes to the window-sill. In the cunningest chamber under the sun I sink to sleep when the day is done; And am waked at morn, in my snow-white bed, By a singing bird on the roof o'erhead. Better than treasures brought from Rome, Are the living pictures I see at home-- My aged father, with frosted hair, And mother's face, like a painting rare. Far from the city's dust and heat, I get but sounds and odors sweet. Who can wonder I love to stay, Week after week, here hidden away, In this sly nook that I love the best-- This little brown house like a ground-bird's nest?
Ella Wilcox
#Home

When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow, We hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago. And etched on vacant places, Are half forgotten faces Of friends we used to cherish, and loves we used to know - When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow. Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near, We see, with strange emotion that is not free from fear, That continent Elysian Long vanished from our vision, Youth's lovely lost Atlantis, so mourned for and so dear, Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near. When gloomy gray Decembers are roused to Christmas mirth, The dullest life remembers there once was joy on earth, And draws from youth's recesses Some memory it possesses, And, gazing through the lens of time, exaggerates its worth, When gloomy gray December is roused to Christmas mirth. When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis Each heart recalls some folly that lit the world with bliss. Not all the seers and sages With wisdom of the ages Can give the mind such pleasure as memories of that kiss When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis. For life was made for loving, and love alone repays, As passing years are proving for all of Time's sad ways. There lies a sting in pleasure, And fame gives shallow measure, And wealth is but a phantom that mocks the restless days, For life was made for loving, and only loving pays. When Christmas bells are pelting the air with silver chimes, And silences are melting to soft, melodious rhymes, Let Love, the worlds beginning, End fear and hate and sinning; Let Love, the God Eternal, be worshipped in all climes When Christmas bells are pelting the air with silver chimes.
Ella Wilcox
#Christmas