Ella Wheeler Wilcox

“ Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs,
Were it not kindness should I give thee rest
By plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?
Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth,
What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth? ”

“ To know no rest till his life is lifted
Fully up to his great gifts' height.
He must mould the man into rare completeness,
For gems are set only in gold refined.
He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness. ”

“ Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through,
While over all a fadeless lustre lies,
And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears,
My new robe shall be richer than the old.
"IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN"
We will be what we could be. Do not say,
"It might have been, had not or that, or this."
No fate can keep us from the chosen way;
He only might, who IS.
We will do what we could do. Do not dream
Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.
I hold, all men are greatly what they seem ”

“ Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall.
The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast
Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day
Is kinder than the calm that lets it last,
Unhappy witness of its own decay.
May no man ever look on me and say,
"She lives, but all her usefulness is past."
WILL
There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,
Can circumvent or hinder or control
The firm resolve of a determined soul.
Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great ”

“ On my six advisers turning,
I make answer, "Oh, but Harry
Is not like most men who marry.
"Fate has offered me a prize,
Life with love means Paradise.
"Life without it is not worth
All the foolish joys of earth."
So, in spite of all they say,
I shall name the wedding day.
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. ”

“ What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?
He always climbs who might.
I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!"
It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts
For I believe we have, and reach, and win,
Whatever our deserts. ”

“ And kissed the grieving mouth and cheeks of bloom.
For swift as lightning came the thought to me,
With pulsing heart-throes and a mist of tears,
Of days inevitable, that are to be,
If my fair darling grows to manhood's years;
Days when he will not call for "mamma," when
The world, with many a pleasure and bright joy,
Shall tempt him forth into the haunts of men
And I shall lose the first place with my boy;
When other homes and loves shall give delight,
When younger smiles and voices will seem best. ”

“ See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
Where others but discern deep night.
Men call me an enthusiast,
And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
I see something that calls for praise. ”

“ Too many hands have stroked Helena's hair.
(I know a little maiden so demure
She will not let her one true lover's hands
In playful fondness touch her soft brown bands
So dainty-minded is she, and so pure.)
"Her great dark eyes that flash like gems at night?
Large, long-lashed eyes and lustrous?" that may be,
And yet they are not beautiful to me.
Too many hearts have sunned in their delight. ”

“ Far nobler than the title of a queen.
Oh! these are they who mould the men of story,
These mothers, ofttimes shorn of grace and youth,
Who, worn and weary, ask no greater glory
Than making some young soul the home of truth ”

“ How brightly their faces are beaming,
These people who make up the crowd.
How they bow, how they bend, how they flutter,
How they look at each other and smile,
How they glow, and what _bons mots_ they utter! ”

“ Fell under my touch, as though struck with blight.
From the heads of kings, I have torn the crown,
From the heights of fame, I have hurled men down;
I have blasted many an honored name,
I have taken virtue, and given shame ”

“ Bring less of bloom than in days gone by?
The beauty that thrilled me, the rapture that filled me,
To an overflowing of happy tears,
I pass unseeing, my sad eyes being
Dimmed by the shadow of vanished years.
When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary;
When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long.
Thank God for sending kind death as an ending,
Like a grand Amen to a minor song.
TRUE CULTURE
The highest culture is to speak no ill,
The best reformer is the man whose eyes
Are quick to see all beauty and all worth ”