Ella Wheeler Wilcox: Всі вірші поета

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A Fisherman's Baby

Oh hush, little baby, thy papa's at sea;

The big billows rock him as mamma rocks thee.

He hastes to his dear ones o'er billows of foam;

Then sleep, little darling, till papa comes home.

Sleep, little baby; hush, little baby;

Papa is coming, no longer to roam.

The shells and the pebbles, all day tossed about,

Are lulled into sleep by the tide ebbing out.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Peek-A-Boo

The cunningest thing that a baby can do

Is the very first time it plays peek-a-boo;

When it hides its pink little face in its hands,

And crows, and shows that it understands

What nurse, and mamma and papa, too,

Mean when they hide and cry, "Peek-a-boo, peek-a-boo."

Oh, what a wonderful thing it is,

When they find that baby can play like this;

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"America Will Not Turn Back" --Woodrow Wilson

America will not turn back;

She did not idly start,

But weighed full carefully and well

Her grave, important part.

She chose the part of Freedom's friend,

And will pursue it, to the end.

Great Liberty, who guards her gates,

Will shine upon her course,

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Maniac

I saw them sitting in the shade;

The long green vines hung over,

But could not hide the gold-haired maid

And Earl, my dark-eyed lover.

His arm was clasped so close, so close,

Her eyes were softly lifted,

While his eyes drank the cheek of rose

And breasts like snowflakes drifted.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Meeting

Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet;

A song I sang, full many a year ago,

Smiled up at me, as in a busy street

One meets an old-time friend he used to know.

So full it was, that simple little song,

Of all the hope, the transport, and the truth,

Which to the impetuous morn of life belong,

That once again I seemed to grasp my youth.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

That's The Way

Just a little every day—

That's the way!

Seeds in darkness swell and grow,

Tiny blades push through the snow;

Never any flower of May

Leaps to blossom in a burst,

Slowly, slowly, as the first,

That's the way.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"Does It Pay"

If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road,

Who meets us by the way,

Goes on less conscious of his galling load,

Then life indeed, does pay.

If we can show one troubled heart the gain,

That lies alway in loss,

Why, then, we too, are paid for all the pain

Of bearing life's hard cross.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Life's Scars

They say the world is round, and yet

I often think it square,

So many little hurts we get

From corners here and there.

But one great truth in life I've found,

While journeying to the West-

The only folks who really wound

Are those we love the best.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"Flowers Of France" Decoration Poem For Soldiers' Graves, Tours, France, May 30, 1918

Flowers of France in the Spring,Your growth is a beautiful thing;But give us your fragrance and bloom,Yea, give us your lives in truth,Give us your sweetness and graceTo brighten the resting-placeOf the flower of manhood and youth,Gone into the dust of the tomb.