Tired (Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems)
I am tired to-night, and something,The wind maybe, or the rain,Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,Has ...
I am tired to-night, and something,The wind maybe, or the rain,Or the cry of a bird in the copse outside,Has ...
As I came through the Valley of Despair,As I came through the valley, on my sight,More awful than the darkness ...
Here now forevermore our lives must part.My path leads there, and yours another way.What shall we do with this fond ...
Time flies. The swift hours hurry byAnd speed us on to untried ways;New seasons ripen, perish, die,And yet love stays.The ...
I was in Dijon when the war's wild blastWas at its loudest; when there was no soundFrom dawn to dawn, ...
Beside us in our seeking after pleasures,Through all our restless striving after fame,Through all our search for worldly gains and ...
The times are not degenerate. Man's faithMounts higher than of old. No crumbling creedCan take from the immortal soul the ...
I fling the past behind me, like a robe Worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date. I have ...
Time's finger on the dial of my life Points to high noon! And yet the half-spent day Leaves less than ...
Toward even when the day leans down, To kiss the upturned face of night, Out just beyond the loud-voiced town ...
So vast the tide of Love within me surging, It overflows like some stupendous sea, The confines of the Present ...
Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve, That you were married, or soon to be. I have not thought of ...
We walk on starry fields of white And do not see the daisies; For blessings common in our sight We ...
All in the dark we grope along, And if we go amiss We learn at least which path is wrong, ...
Friend of my youth, let us talk of old times; Of the long lost golden hours. When "Winter" meant only ...
BOOK FIRST. I. ALL valor died not on the plains of Troy. Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy ...
Why sit ye idly dreaming all the day, While the golden, precious hours flit away? See you not the day ...
Do you remember the name I wore - The old pet-name of Little Queen - In the dear, dead days ...
Why are thou sad, my Beppo? But last eve, Here at my feet, thy dear head on my breast, I ...
I sit in the twilight dim At the close of an idle day, And I list to the soft sweet ...
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