POEMS OF CHEER

BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD. 12 and 13, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN LONDON 1914

[All rights reserved]

p. vThis Volume contains the poems published under the title “Poems of Life,” with the exception of about half a dozen, which appear in my other volumes. I have also added a few new verses.

Any edition of my Poems published in Great Britain by any firm except Messrs. Gay and Hancock is pirated and not authentic.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

April 12th, 1910.

p. viI step across the mystic border-land, And look upon the wonder-world of Art. How beautiful, how beautiful its hills! And all its valleys, how surpassing fair!

The winding paths that lead up to the heights Are polished by the footsteps of the great. The mountain-peaks stand very near to God: The chosen few whose feet have trod thereon Have talked with Him, and with the angels walked.

Here are no sounds of discord—no profane Or senseless gossip of unworthy things— Only the songs of chisels and of pens, Of busy brushes, and ecstatic strains Of souls surcharged with music most divine. Here is no idle sorrow, no poor grief For any day or object left behind— For time is counted precious, and herein Is such complete abandonment of Self That tears turn into rainbows, and enhance The beauty of the land where all is fair. Awed and afraid, I cross the border-land. Oh, who am I, that I dare enter here Where the great artists of the world have trod— The genius-crowned aristocrats of Earth? Only the singer of a little song; Yet loving Art with such a mighty love I hold it greater to have won a place Just on the fair land’s edge, to make my grave, Than in the outer world of greed and gain To sit upon a royal throne and reign.

p. viiCONTENTS

PAGE

Worth while

1

The House of Life

3

A Song of Life

6

Prayer

8

In the Long Run

10

As you go through Life

12

Two Sunsets

14

Unrest

18

Artist’s life

20

Nothing but Stones

22

Inevitable

24

The Ocean of Song

26

p. viii“It might have been”

29

Momus, God of Laughter

30

I Dream

32

The Sonnet

34

The Past

35

A Dream

36

Uselessness

37

Will

38

Winter Rain

39

Life

40

Burdened

41

Let them go

42

Five Kisses

44

Retrospection

48

Helena

50

Nothing Remains

52

Comrades

54

What Gain?

56

p. ixTo the West

58

The Land of Content

60

Warning

62

After the Battles are over

63

And they are dumb

71

Night

73

All for me

75

Into Space

77

Through Dim Eyes

79

The Punished

81

Half Fledged

82

The Year

84

The Unattained

85

In the crowd

87

Life and I

89

Guerdon

91

Snowed Under

92

“Leudemanns-on-the-river”

94

p. xLittle Blue Hood

97

No Spring

99

Midsummer

101

A Reminiscence

103

A Girl’s Faith

105

Two

107

Slipping Away

109

Is it done?

111

A Leaf

113

Æsthetic

115

Poems of the Week

117

Ghosts

120

Fleeing away

122

All mad

124

Hidden Gems

126

By-and-bye

127

Over the May Hill

129

Foes

131

p. xiFriendship

133

Two sat down

135

Bound and free

137

Aquileia

139

Wishes for a little girl

142

Romney

144

My Home

146

To marry or not to marry?

148

An Afternoon

150

River and Sea

152

What happens?

153

Possession

154

p. 1WORTH WHILE

It is easy enough to be pleasant When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is the one who will smile When everything goes dead wrong. For the test of the heart is trouble, And it always comes with the years, And the smile that is worth the praises of earth Is the smile that shines through tears.

It is easy enough to be prudent When nothing tempts you to stray, When without or within no voice of sin Is luring your soul away; But it’s only a negative virtue Until it is tried by fire, And the life that is worth the honour on earth Is the one that resists desire.

p. 2By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, Who had no strength for the strife, The world’s highway is cumbered to-day— They make up the sum of life; But the virtue that conquers passion, And the sorrow that hides in a smile— It is these that are worth the homage on earth, For we find them but once in a while.

p. 3THE HOUSE OF LIFE

All wondering, and eager-eyed, within her portico I made my plea to Hostess Life, one morning long ago.

“Pray show me this great house of thine, nor close a single door; But let me wander where I will, and climb from floor to floor!

For many rooms, and curious things, and treasures great and small Within your spacious mansion lie, and I would see them all.”

Then Hostess Life turned silently, her searching gaze on me, And with no word, she reached her hand, and offered up the key.

p. 4It opened first the door of Hope, and long I lingered there, Until I spied the room of Dreams, just higher by a stair.

And then a door whereon the one word “Happiness” was writ; But when I tried the little key I could not make it fit.

It turned the lock of Pleasure’s room, where first all seemed so bright— But after I had stayed awhile it somehow lost its light.

And wandering down a lonely hall, I came upon a room Marked “Duty,” and I entered it—to lose myself in gloom.

Along the shadowy halls I groped my weary way about, And found that from dull Duty’s room, a door of Toil led out.

It led out to another door, whereon a crimson stain Made sullenly against the dark these words: “The Room of Pain.”

p. 5But oh the light, the light, the light, that spilled down from above And upward wound, the stairs of Faith, right to the Tower of Love!

And when I came forth from that place, I tried the little key— And lo! the door of Happiness swung open, wide and free.

p. 6A SONG OF LIFE

In the rapture of life and of living, I lift up my heart 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.

p. 7I 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 you 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.

p. 8PRAYER

I do not undertake to say That literal answers come from Heaven, But I know this—that when I pray A comfort, a support is given That helps me rise o’er earthly things As larks soar up on airy wings.

In vain the wise philosopher Points out to me my fabric’s flaws, In vain the scientists aver That “all things are controlled by laws.” My life has taught me day by day That it availeth much to pray.

I do not stop to reason out The why and how. I do not care, Since I know this, that when I doubt, Life seems a blackness of despair, The world a tomb; and when I trust, Sweet blossoms spring up in the dust.

p. 9Since I know in the darkest hour, If I lift up my soul in prayer, Some sympathetic, loving Power Sends hope and comfort to me there. Since balm is sent to ease my pain, What need to argue or explain?

Prayer has a sweet, refining grace, It educates the soul and heart. It lends a lustre to the face, And by its elevating art It gives the mind an inner sight That brings it near the Infinite.

From our gross selves it helps us rise To something which we yet may be. And so I ask not to be wise, If thus my faith is lost to me. Faith, that with angel’s voice and touch Says, “Pray, for prayer availeth much.”

p. 10IN THE LONG RUN

In the long run fame finds the deserving man. The lucky wight may prosper for a day, But in good time true merit leads the van And vain pretence, unnoticed, goes its way. There is no Chance, no Destiny, no Fate, But Fortune smiles on those who work and wait, In the long run.

In the long run all godly sorrow pays, There is no better thing than righteous pain, The sleepless nights, the awful thorn-crowned days, Bring sure reward to tortured soul and brain. Unmeaning joys enervate in the end, But sorrow yields a glorious dividend In the long run.

p. 11In the long run all hidden things are known, The eye of truth will penetrate the night, And good or ill, thy secret shall be known, However well ’tis guarded from the light. All the unspoken motives of the breast Are fathomed by the years and stand confess’d In the long run.

In the long run all love is paid by love, Though undervalued by the hosts of earth; The great eternal Government above Keeps strict account and will redeem its worth. Give thy love freely; do not count the cost; So beautiful a thing was never lost In the long run.

p. 12AS YOU GO THROUGH LIFE

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’s 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.

p. 13The 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.

p. 14TWO 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

p. 15One day he heard a singing strain— A human voice, in bird-like trills. He paused, and little rapture-rills Went trickling downward through each vein.

And in his heart the whole day long, As in a temple veiled and dim, He kept and bore about with him The beauty of that singer’s song.

And then? But why relate what then? His smouldering heart flamed into fire— He had his one supreme desire, And plunged into the world of men.

For years queen Folly held her sway. With pleasures of the grosser kind She fed his flesh and drugged his mind, Till, shamed, he sated, turned away.

He sought his boyhood’s home. That hour Triumphant should have been, in sooth, Since he went forth, an unknown youth, And came back crowned with wealth and power.

p. 16The clouds made day a gorgeous bed; He saw the splendour of the sky With unmoved heart and stolid eye; He only knew the West was red.

Then suddenly a fresh young voice Rose, bird-like, from some hidden place, He did not even turn his face— It struck him simply as a noise.

He trod the old paths up and down. Their rich-hued leaves by Fall winds whirled— How dull they were—how dull the world— Dull even in the pulsing town.

O! worst of punishments, that brings A blunting of all finer sense, A loss of feelings keen, intense, And dulls us to the higher things.

O! penalty most dire, most sure, Swift following after gross delights, That we no more see beauteous sights, Or hear as hear the good and pure.

p. 17O! shape more hideous and more dread Than Vengeance takes in creed-taught minds, This certain doom that blunts and blinds, And strikes the holiest feelings dead.

p. 18UNREST

In the youth of the year, when the birds were building, When the green was showing on tree and hedge, And the tenderest light of all lights was gilding The world from zenith to outermost edge, My soul grew sad and longingly lonely! I sighed for the season of sun and rose, And I said, “In the Summer and that time only Lies sweet contentment and blest repose.”

With bee and bird for her maids of honour Came Princess Summer in robes of green. And the King of day smiled down upon her And wooed her, and won her, and made her queen. Fruit of their union and true love’s pledges, Beautiful roses bloomed day by day, And rambled in gardens and hid in hedges Like royal children in sportive play.

p. 19My restless soul for a little season Revelled in rapture of glow and bloom, And then, like a subject who harbours treason, Grew full of rebellion and grey with gloom. And I said, “I am sick of the summer’s blisses, Of warmth and beauty, and nothing more. The full fruition my sad soul misses That beauteous Fall-time holds in store!”

But now when the colours are almost blinding, Burning and blending on bush and tree, And the rarest fruits are mine for the finding, And the year is ripe as a year can be, My soul complains in the same old fashion; Crying aloud in my troubled breast Is the same old longing, the same old passion. O where is the treasure which men call rest?