Poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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The Land Of Nowhere

Do you know where the summer blooms all the year 'round,

Where there never is rain on a pic-nic day?

Where the thornless rose in its beauty blows

And little boys never are called from play?

Then, oh! hey! it is far away—

In the wonderful land of Nowhere.

Would you like to live where nobody scolds,

Where you never are told "it is time for bed,"

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Three Women

prologue

My love is young, so young;

Young is her cheek, and her throat,

And life is a song to be sung

With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;

Her eyes have the smile o' May.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Golden Day

The subtle beauty of this day

Hangs o'er me like a fairy spell,

And care and grief have flown away,

And every breeze sings, "all is well."

I ask, "Holds earth or sin, or woe?"

My heart replies, "I do not know."

Nay! all we know, or feel, my heart,

Today is joy undimmed, complete;

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Why The Daisies Are Not All White

Uncle Rob says:

Once the daisies all were white,

Till a baby fellow

Ate his supper down one night,

And stained his face all yellow.

Smeared with butter, off to bed

Crept the sleepy flower.

"Fie!" the good nurse dew-drop said,

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Island Of Endless Play

Said Willie to Tom "Let us hie away

To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.

It lies off the border of 'No School Land'

And abounds with pleasures, I understand.

There boys go swimming whenever they please

In a lovely river right under the trees.

And marbles are free, no one has to buy;

And kites of all sizes are ready to fly.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My Ships

If all the ships I have at sea

Should come a-sailing home to me,

From sunny lands, and lands of cold,

Ah well! the harbor could not hold

So many sails as there would be

If all my ships came in from sea.

If half my ships came home from sea,

And brought their precious freight to me,

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A Maiden's Secret

I have written this day down in my heart

As the sweetest day in the season;

From all of the others I've set it apart—-

But I will not tell you the reason,

That is my secret—-I must not tell;

But the skies are soft and tender,

And never before, I know full well,

Was the earth so full of splendour.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"Give Us A Call!"

Give us a call! We keep good beer,

Wine, and brandy, and whiskey here;

Our doors are open to boys and men,

And even to women, now and then.

We lighten their purses, we taint their breaths,

We swell up the column of awful deaths;

All kinds of crimes

We sell for dimes

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

"One Was Taken, And One Was Left"

Two harvesters walked through the rows of corn,

Down to the ripe wheat fields, one morn.

Both were fair, in the flush of youth,

With hearts of courage and eyes of truth—

Fair and young, with the priceless wealth

Of strength, and beauty, and glowing health.

Loud and clear was their mellow song

On the morning air, as they strode along.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A March Snow

Let the old snow be covered with the new:

The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.

Let it be hidden wholly from our view

By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.

When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet

Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.

Let the old life be covered by the new:

The old past life so full of sad mistakes,

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Five Little Toes At Night

This little toe is tired,

This little toe needs rocking,

This little toe is sleepy you know,

But this little toe keeps talking,

This toe big and tall is the mischief of all,

For he made a great hole in his stocking.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Upon The Sand

All love that has not friendship for its base,

Is like a mansion built upon the sand.

Though brave its walls as any in the land,

And its tall turrets lift their heads in grace;

Though skillful and accomplished artists trace

Most beautiful designs on every hand,

And gleaming statues in dim niches stand,

And mountains play in some flow'r-hidden place:

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox