The sin and the shame and the sorrow, The crime and the want and the woe That are born there in your workshop, No hand can paint, you know. — 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
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
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
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
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
Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes, and men grow better as the world grows old. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share
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
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
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
“And yet I would not be a child again. For surely as the night succeeds the day, So surely will their mirth turn into… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share
Oh! not for the great departed, Who formed our country's laws, And not for the bravest-hearted, Who died in freedom's cause, And not for… — Ella Wheeler Wilcox Copy Share
