How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known? — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
A day which passed without a poem from my pen I considered lost and misused. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Talk health. The dreary, never-changing tale Of mortal maladies is worn and stale. You cannot charm, or interest, or please By harping in that… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Why dost thou shrink from my approach, O Man? Why dost thou ever flee in fear, and cling To my false rival, Life? I… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
With every rising of the sun Think of your life as just begun. The past has shrived and buried deep All yesterdays— there let… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
“Why, even Death stands still and waits an hour for such a will.” — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Better to wait and yearn, and still to wait, And die at last with unappeased desire, Than live to be the jest of such… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes, and men grow better as the world grows old. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Back on its golden hinges The gate of Memory swings, And my heart goes into the garden And walks with the olden things. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
I hold it true that thoughts are things Endowed with bodies, breath, and wings, And that we send them forth to fill The world… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes, The matchless tinting on the royal rose Whose velvet… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
Don't anticipate the happiness of tomorrow. Discover it today. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share Image
