Books: Poems of Optimism
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Ella Wheeler Wilcox >> Poems of Optimism
ON AVON'S BREAST I SAW A STATELY SWAN
One day when England's June was at its best,
I saw a stately and imperious swan
Floating on Avon's fair untroubled breast.
Sudden, it seemed as if all strife had gone
Out of the world; all discord, all unrest.
The sorrows and the sinnings of the race
Faded away like nightmares in the dawn.
All heaven was one blue background for the grace
Of Avon's beautiful, slow-moving swan;
And earth held nothing mean or commonplace.
Life seemed no longer to be hurrying on
With unbecoming haste; but softly trod,
As one who reads in emerald leaf, or lawn,
Or crimson rose a message straight from God.
. . . . .
On Avon's breast I saw a stately swan.
THE LITTLE GO-CART
It was long, long ago that a soul like a flower
Unfolded, and blossomed, and passed in an hour.
It was long, long ago; and the memory seems
Like the pleasures and sorrows that come in our dreams.
The kind years have crowned me with many a joy
Since the going away of my wee little boy;
Each one as it passed me has stooped with a kiss,
And left some delight--knowing one thing I miss.
But when in the park or the street, all elate
A baby I see in his carriage of state,
As proud as a king, in his little go-cart -
I feel all the mother-love stir in my heart!
And I seem to be back in that long-vanished May;
And the baby, who came but to hurry away
In the little white hearse, is not dead, but alive,
And out in his little go-cart for a drive.
I whisper a prayer as he rides down the street,
And my thoughts follow after him, tender and sweet;
For I know, by a law that is vast and divine,
(Though I know not his name) that the baby is mine!
I AM RUNNING FORTH TO MEET YOU
I am running forth to meet you, O my Master,
For they tell me you are surely on the way;
Yes, they tell me you are coming back again
(While I run, while I run).
And I wish my feet were winged to speed on faster,
And I wish I might behold you here to-day,
Lord of men.
I am running, yet I walk beside my neighbour,
And I take the duties given me to do;
Yes, I take the daily duties as they fall
(While I run, while I run),
And my heart runs to my hand and helps the labour,
For I think this is the way that leads to you,
Lord of all.
I am running, yet I turn from toil and duty,
Oftentimes to just the art of being glad;
Yes, to just the joys that make the earth-world bright
(While I run, while I run).
For the soul that worships God must worship beauty,
And the heart that thinks of You can not be sad,
Lord of light.
I am running, yet I pause to greet my brother,
And I lean to rid my garden of its weed;
Yes, I lean, although I lift my thoughts above
(While I run, while I run).
And I think of that command, 'Love one another,'
As I hear discordant sounds of creed with creed,
Lord of Love.
I am running, and the road is lit with splendour,
And it brightens and shines fairer with each span;
Yes, it brightens like the highway in a dream
(While I run, while I run).
And my heart to all the world grows very tender,
For I seem to see the Christ in every man,
Lord supreme.
MARTYRS OF PEACE
Fame writes ever its song and story,
For heroes of war, in letters of glory.
But where is the story and where is the song
For the heroes of peace and the martyrs of wrong?
They fight their battles in shop and mine;
They die at their posts and make no sign.
They herd like beasts in a slaughter pen;
They live like cattle and suffer like men.
Why, set by the horrors of such a life,
Like a merry-go-round seems the battle's strife,
And the open sea, and the open boat,
And the deadly cannon with bellowing throat.
Oh, what are they all, with death thrown in,
To the life that has nothing to lose or win -
The life that has nothing to hope or gain
But ill-paid labour and beds of pain?
Fame, where is your story and where is your song
For the martyrs of peace and the victims of wrong?
HOME
The greatest words are always solitaires,
Set singly in one syllable; like birth,
Life, love, hope, peace. I sing the worth
Of that dear word toward which the whole world fares -
I sing of home.
To make a home, we should take all of love
And much of labour, patience, and keen joy;
Then mix the elements of earth's alloy
With finer things drawn from the realms above,
The spirit home.
There should be music, melody and song;
Beauty in every spot; an open door
And generous sharing of the pleasure store
With fellow-pilgrims as they pass along,
Seeking for home.
Make ample room for silent friends--the books,
That give so much and only ask for space.
Nor let Utility crowd out the vase
Which has no use save gracing by its looks
The precious home.
To narrow bounds let mirrors lend their aid
And multiply each gracious touch of art;
And let the casual stranger feel the part -
The great creative part--that love has played
Within the home.
Here bring your best in thought and word and deed,
Your sweetest acts, your highest self-control;
Nor save them for some later hour and goal.
Here is the place, and now the time of need,
Here in your home.
THE ETERNAL NOW
Time with his back against the mighty wall,
Which hides from view all future joy and sorrow,
Hears, without answer, the impatient call
Of puny man, to tell him of to-morrow.
Moral, be wise, and to the silence bow,
These useless and unquiet ways forsaking;
Concern thyself with the Eternal Now -
To-day hold all things, ready for thy taking.
IF I WERE A MAN, A YOUNG MAN
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day,
I would look in the eyes of Life undaunted
By any Fate that might threaten me.
I would give to the world what the world most wanted -
Manhood that knows it can do and be;
Courage that dares, and faith that can see
Clear into the depths of the human soul,
And find God there, and the ultimate goal,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day,
I would think of myself as the masterful creature
Of all the Masterful plan;
The Formless Cause, with form and feature;
The Power that heeds not limit or ban;
Man, wonderful man.
I would do good deeds, and forget them straightway;
I would weave my woes into ropes and climb
Up to the heights of the helper's gateway;
And Life should serve me, and Time,
And I would sail out, and out, and find
The treasures that lie in the deep sea, Mind.
I would dream, and think, and act;
I would work, and love, and pray,
Till each dream and vision grew into a fact,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day,
I would guard my passions as Kings guard treasures,
And keep them high and clean.
(For the will of a man, with his passions, measures;
It is strong as they are keen.)
I would think of each woman as some one's mother;
I would think of each man as my own blood brother,
And speed him along on his way.
And the glory of life in this wonderful hour
Should fill me and thrill me with Conscious power,
If I were a man, a young man, and knew what I know to-day.
WE MUST SEND THEM OUT TO PLAY
Now much there is need of doing must not be done in haste;
But slowly and with patience, as a jungle is changed to a town.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not always so:
When a murderer's hand is lifted to kill, there is no time to waste;
And the way to change his purpose is first to knock him down
And teach him the law of kindness after you give him the blow.
The acorn you plant in the morning will not give shade at noon;
And the thornless cactus must be bred by year on year of toil.
But listen, my brothers, listen; it is not ever the way,
For the roots of the poison ivy plant you cannot pull too soon;
If you would better your garden and make the most of your soil,
Hurry and dig up the evil things and cast them out to-day.
The ancient sin of the nations no law can ever efface;
We must wait for the mothers of men to grow, and give clean souls
to their sons.
But listen, my brothers, listen--when a child cries out in
pain,
We must rise from the banquet board and go, though the host is saying
grace;
We must rise and find the Herod of Greed, who is killing our
little ones,
Nor ever go back to the banquet until the monster is slain.
The strong man waits for justice, with lifted soul and eyes,
As a sturdy oak will face the storm, and does not break or bow.
But listen, my brothers, listen; the child is a child for a
day;
If a merciless foot treads down each shoot, how can the forest rise?
We are robbing the race when we rob a child; we must rescue the
children NOW;
We must rescue the little slaves of Greed and send them out to
play.
PROTEST
To sit in silence when we should protest
Makes cowards out of men. The human race
Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised
Against injustice, ignorance and lust
The Inquisition yet would serve the law
And guillotines decide our least disputes.
The few who dare must speak and speak again
To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God,
No vested power in this great day and land
Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry
Loud disapproval of existing ills,
May criticise oppression and condemn
The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws
That let the children and child-bearers toil
To purchase ease for idle millionaires,
Therefore do I protest against the boast
Of independence in this mighty land.
Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link,
Call no land free that holds one fettered slave
Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes
Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee,
Until the Mother bears no burden save
The precious one beneath her heart; until
God's soil is rescued from the clutch of greed
And given back to labour, let no man
Call this the Land of Freedom.
REWARD
Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed,
That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed.
Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat,
Saying, 'I came to see what you were laughing at.'
THIS IS MY TASK
When the whole world resounds with rude alarms
Of warring arms,
When God's good earth, from border unto border
Shows man's disorder,
Let me not waste my dower of mortal might
In grieving over wrongs I cannot right.
This is my task: amid discordant strife
To keep a clean sweet centre in my life;
And though the human orchestra may be
Playing all out of key -
To tune my soul to symphonies above,
And sound the note of love.
This is my task.
When by the minds of men most beauteous Faith
Seems doomed to death,
And to her place is hoisted, by soul treason,
The dullard Reason,
Let me not hurry forth with flag unfurled
To proselyte an unbelieving world.
This is my task: in depths of unstarred night
Or in diverting and distracting light
To keep (in crowds, or in my room alone)
Faith on her lofty throne;
And whatsoever happen or befall,
To see God's hand in all.
This is my task.
When, in church pews, men worship God in words,
But meet their kind with swords,
When Fair Religion, stripped of holy passion,
Walks masked as Fashion,
Let me not wax indignant at the sight;
Or waste my strength bewailing her sad plight.
This is my task: to search in my own mind
Until the qualities of God I find;
To seek them in the hearts of friend and foe -
Or high or low;
And in my hours of toil, or prayer, or play,
To live my creed each day.
This is my task.
THE STATUE
A granite rock in the mountain side
Gazed on the world and was satisfied.
It watched the centuries come and go,
It welcomed the sunlight yet loved the snow,
It grieved when the forest was forced to fall,
Yet joyed when steeples rose white and tall
In the valley below it, and thrilled to hear
The voice of the great town roaring near.
When the mountain stream from its idle play
Was caught by the mill-wheel and borne away
And trained to labour, the gray rock mused,
'Tree and verdure and stream are used
By man the master, but I remain
Friend of the mountain and star and plain,
Unchanged forever by God's decree
While passing centuries bow to me.'
Then all unwarned, with a mighty shock
Out of the mountain was wrenched the rock;
Bruised and battered, and broken in heart
It was carried away to the common mart.
Wrenched, and ruined in peace and pride,
'Oh, God is cruel,' the granite cried,
'Comrade of mountain, of star the friend,
By all deserted--how sad my end.'
A dreaming sculptor in passing by
Gazed on the granite with thoughtful eye;
Then stirred with a purpose supremely grand
He bade his dream in the rock expand.
And lo! from the broken and shapeless mass
That grieved and doubted, it came to pass
That a glorious statue of priceless worth
And infinite beauty adorned the earth.
BEHOLD THE EARTH
Behold the earth swung in among the stars
Fit home for gods if men were only kind -
Do thou thy part to shape it to those ends,
By shaping thine own life to perfectness.
Seek nothing for thyself or thine own kin
That robs another of one hope or joy,
Let no man toil in poverty and pain
To give thee unearned luxury and ease.
Feed not the hungry servitor with stones,
That idle guests may fatten on thy bread.
Look for the good in stranger and in foe,
Nor save thy praises for the cherished few;
And let the weakest sinner find in thee
An impetus to reach receding heights.
Behold the earth swung in among the stars -
Fit home for gods; wake thou the God within
And by the broad example of thy love
Communicate Omnipotence to men.
All men are unawakened gods: be thine
The voice to rouse them from unhappy sleep
WHAT THEY SAW
Sad man, Sad man, tell me, pray,
What did you see to-day?
I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for slow delinquent death
to come.
Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where sunlight is
ashamed to go.
The awful alms-house, where the living dead rot slowly in their
hideous open graves.
And there were shameful things;
Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil ships, and
loud-winged devil birds,
All bent on slaughter and destruction. These and yet more shameful
things mine eyes beheld.
Old men upon lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with no
thought of God;
And half clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the
underworld -
Engrossed in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives.
These things I saw.
(How God must loathe His earth.)
Glad man, Glad man, tell me, pray,
What did you see to-day?
I saw an aged couple, in whose eyes
Shone that deep light of mingled love and faith
Which makes the earth one room of Paradise,
And leaves no sting in death.
I saw fair regiments of children pour,
Rank after rank, out of the schoolroom door
By Progress mobilised. They seemed to say
'Let ignorance make way;
We are the heralds of a better day.'
I saw the college and the church that stood
For all things sane and good.
I saw God's helpers in the shop and slum
Blazing a path for health and hope to come;
And men and women of large soul and mind
Absorbed in toil for bettering their kind.
Then, too, I saw life's sweetest sight and best -
Pure mothers with dear babies at the breast,
These things I saw.
(How God must love His earth.)
HIS LAST LETTER
Well, you are free;
The longed for, lied for, waited for decree
Is yours to-day.
I made no protest; and you had your say,
And left me with no vestige of repute.
Neglect, abuse, and cruelty you charge
With broken marriage vows. The list is large
But not to be denied. So I was mute.
Now you shall listen to a few plain facts
Before you go out wholly from my life
As some man's wife.
Read carefully this statement of your acts
Which changed the lustre of my honeymoon
To sombre gloom,
And wrenched the cover from Pandora's box.
In those first talks
'Twixt bride and groom I showed you my whole heart,
Showed you how deep my love was and how true;
With all a strong man's feeling I loved YOU:
(God, how I loved you, my one chosen mate.)
But I learned this
(So poorly did you play your little part):
You married marriage, to avoid the fate
Of having 'Miss'
Carved on your tombstone. Love you did not know,
But you were greedy for the showy things
That money brings.
Such weak affection as you could bestow
Was given the provider, not the lover.
The knowledge hurt. Keen pain like that is dumb;
And masks itself in smiles, lest men discover.
But I was lonely; and the feeling grew
The more I studied you.
Into your shallow heart love could not come,
But yet you loved my love; because it gave
The prowess of a mistress o'er a slave.
You showed your power
In petty tyranny hour after hour,
Day after day, year after lengthening years.
My tasks, my pleasures, my pursuits were not
Held near or dear,
Or made to seem important in your thought.
My friends were not your friends; you goaded me
By foolish and ignoble jealousy,
Till, through suggestion's laws
I gave you cause.
The beauteous ideal Love had hung
In my soul's shrine,
And worshipped as a something all divine,
With wanton hand you flung
Into the dust. And then you wondered why
My love should die.
My sins and derelictions cry aloud
To all the world: my head is bowed
Under its merited reproaches. Yours
Is lifted to receive
The sympathy the court's decree insures.
The world loves to believe
In man's depravity and woman's worth;
But I am one of many men on earth
Whose loud resounding fall
Is like the crashing of some well-built wall
Which those who seek can trace
To the slow work of insects at its base.
. . . . . . .
Be not afraid.
The alimony will be promptly paid
A DIALOGUE
HE
Let us be friends. My life is sad and lonely,
While yours with love is beautiful and bright.
Be kind to me: I ask your friendship only.
No Star is robbed by lending darkness light.
SHE
I give you friendship as I understand it,
A sentiment I feel for all mankind.
HE
Oh, give me more; may not one friend command it?
SHE
Look in the skies, 'tis there the star you'll find;
It casts its beams on all with equal favour.
HE
I would have more than what all men may claim.
SHE
Then your ideas of friendship strongly savour
Of sentiments which wear another name.
HE
May not one friend receive more than another?
SHE
Not man from woman and still remain a friend.
Life holds but three for her, a father, brother,
Lover--against the rest she must contend.
HE
Against the universe I would protect you,
With my life even, nor hold the price too dear.
SHE
But not against YOURSELF, should fate select you
As Lancelot for foolish Guinevere.
HE
You would not tempt me?
SHE
That is undisputed.
We put the question back upon the shelf.
My point remains unanswered, unrefuted
No man protects a woman from himself.
HE
I am immune: for once I loved with passion,
And all the fires within me burned to dust.
I think of woman but in friendly fashion:
In me she finds a comrade safe to trust.
SHE
So said Mount Peelee to the listening ocean:
Behold what followed! Let the good be wise.
Though human hearts proclaim extinct emotion,
Beware how high the tides of friendship rise.
A WISH
Great dignity ever attends great grief,
And silently walks beside it;
And I always know when I see such woe
That Invisible Helpers guide it.
And I know deep sorrow is like a tide,
It cannot ever be flowing;
The high-water mark in the night and the dark -
Then dawn, and the outward going.
But the people who pull at my heart-strings hard
Are the ones whom destiny hurries
Through commonplace ways to the end of their days,
And pesters with paltry worries.
The peddlers who trudge with a budget of wares
To the door that is slammed unkindly;
The vendor who stands with his shop in his hands
Where the hastening hosts pass blindly;
The woman who holds in her poor flat purse
The price of her rent-room only,
While her starved eye feeds on the comfort she needs
To brighten the lot that is lonely;
The man in the desert of endless work,
Unsoftened by islands of leisure;
And the children who toil in the dust and the soil,
While their little hearts cry for pleasure;
The people who labour, and scrimp, and save,
At the call of some thankless duty,
And carefully hide, with a mien of pride,
Their ravening hunger for beauty;
These ask no pity, and seek no aid,
But the thought of them somehow is haunting;
And I wish I might fling at their feet everything
That I know in their hearts they are wanting.
JUSTICE
However inexplicable may seem
Event and circumstance upon the earth,
Though favours fall on those who none esteem,
And insult and indifference greet worth,
Though poverty repays a life of toil,
And riches spring where idle feet have trod,
And storms lay waste the patiently tilled soil -
Yet Justice sways the universe of God.
As undisturbed the stately stars remain
Beyond the glare of day's obscuring light,
So Justice dwells, though mortal eyes in vain
Seek it persistently by reason's sight.
But, when once freed, the illumined soul looks out -
Its cry will be, 'O God, how could I doubt?'
AN OLD SONG
Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of
Prayer;
And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair.
A shabby old man with a music machine on the sordid city street;
But suddenly earth seemed Arcady, and life grew young and sweet.
For the city street fled, and the world was green, and a little house
stood by the sea;
And she came singing a martial air (she who was peace itself);
She brought back with her the old, strange charm, of mingled pathos
and glee -
With her eyes of a child in a woman's face, and her soul of a saint
in an elf.
She had been gone for many a year. They tell us it is not far -
That silent place where the dear ones go, but it might as well be a
star.
Yes, it might as well be a distant star as a beautiful Near-by Land,
If we hear no voice, and see no face, and feel no touch of a hand.
But now she had come, for I saw her there, and she looked so blithe
and young;
(Not white and still, as I saw her last) and the rose that she wore
was red;
And her voice soared up in a bird-like trill, at the end of the song
she sung,
And she mimicked a soldier's warlike stride, and tossed back her dear
little head.
She had gone for many a year, and never came back before;
But I think she dwells in a Near-by Land, since song jarred open the
door;
Yes, I think it is surely a Near-by Land, that place where our loved
ones are,
For the song would never have reached her ear had she been on a
distant star.
Two roadways lead from this land to That, and one is the road of
Prayer,
And one is the road of Old-time Songs, and every note is a stair.
OH, POOR, SICK WORLD
Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU,
Flinging stars out into space, moving suns and tides;
Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view,
And the carping self of me runs away and hides.
Then I see all shadowed paths leading out to Light;
See the false things fade away, leaving but the True;
See the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right;
When this little mortal mind gets the larger view.
Cavillings at this and that, censure, doubt and fear,
Fly, as fly before the dawn, insects of the night;
Life and Death are understood; everything seems clear,
All the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right.
The World has walked with fever in its veins
For many and many a day. Oh, poor, sick world!
Not knowing all its dreams of greed and gain,
Of selfish conquest and possession, were
Disordered visions of a brain diseased.
Now the World's malady is at its height
And there is foul contagion in its breath.
It raves of death and slaughter; and the stars
Shake with reverberations of its cries,
And the sad seas are troubled and disturbed.
So must it rave--this sick and suffering world -
Until the old secretions in its blood
Are emptied out and purged away by war;
And the deep seated cankers of the mind
Begin the healing process. Then a calm
Shall come upon the earth; and that loved word
PEACE, shall be understood from shore to shore.
Shriek on, mad world. The great Physician sits
Serenely conscious of the coming change,
Nor seeks to check the fever; it must run
Until its course is finished. He can wait.
In his vast Solar Systems he has seen
So many other worlds as sick as this
He feels but pity for his ailing charge,
Not blame or anger. And he knows the hour
Will surely dawn when that sick child shall wake
Free from all frenzied fancies, and shall turn
Clear-seeing eyes upon the face of God.
Then shall begin the new millennium.
Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU,
Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view;
Then I see all shadowed paths leading into Light,
Where the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right.
Oh, poor, sick world!
PRAISE DAY
Let us halt now for a space in our hurrying;
Let us take time to look up and look out;
Let us refuse for a spell to be worrying;
Let us decline to both question and doubt.
If one goes cavilling,
Hair splitting, flaw hunting--ready for strife -
All the best pleasure is missed in the travelling
Onward through life.