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    Poems of Optimism
    Poems of Optimism
    Poems of Optimism
    Ebook117 pages58 minutes

    Poems of Optimism

    By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateSep 1, 2006

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      Book preview

      Poems of Optimism - Ella Wheeler Wilcox

      Poems of Optimism, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Optimism, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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      **Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**

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      *****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****

      Title: Poems of Optimism

      Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

      Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7421]

      [This file was first posted on April 27, 2003]

      Edition: 10

      Language: English

      Transcribed from the 1919 (UK) edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk

      POEMS OF OPTIMISM

      Contents:

         War

            Greater Britain

            Belgium

            Knitting

            Mobilisation

            Neutral

            A book for the King

            The men-made gods

            The Ghosts

            The poet’s theme

            Europe

            After

            The peace angel

            Peace should not come

         Miscellaneous

            The Winds of Fate

            Beauty

            The invisible helpers

            To the women of Australia

            Replies

            Earth bound

            A successful man

            Unsatisfied

            Separation

            To the teachers of the young

            Beauty making

            On Avon’s breast I saw a stately swan

            The little go-cart

            I am running forth to meet you

            Martyrs of peace

            Home

            The eternal now

            If I were a man, a young man

            We must send them out to play

            Protest

            Reward

            This is my task

            The statue

            Behold the earth

            What they saw

            His last letter

            A dialogue

            A wish

            Justice

            An old song

            Oh, poor, sick world

            Praise day

            Interlude

            The land of the gone-away-souls

            The harp’s song

            The pendulum

            An old-fashioned type

            The sword

            Love and the seasons

            A naughty little comet

            The last dance

            A vagabond mind

            My flower room

            My faith

            Arrow and bow

            If we should meet him

            Faith

            The secret of prayer

            The answer

            A vision

            The second coming

      GREATER BRITAIN

      Our hearts were not set on fighting,

         We did not pant for the fray,

      And whatever wrongs need righting,

         We would not have met that way.

      But the way that has opened before us

         Leads on thro’ a blood-red field;

      And we swear by the great God o’er us,

         We will die, but we will not yield.

      The battle is not of our making,

         And war was never our plan;

      Yet, all that is sweet forsaking,

         We march to it, man by man.

      It is either to smite, or be smitten,

         There’s no other choice to-day;

      And we live, as befits the Briton,

         Or we die, as the Briton may.

      We were not fashioned for cages,

         Or to feed from a keeper’s hand;

      Our strength which has grown thro’ ages

         Is the strength of a slave-free land.

      We cannot kneel down to a master,

         To our God alone can we pray;

      And we stand in this world disaster,

         To fight, like a lion at bay.

      BELGIUM

      Ruined? destroyed?  Ah, no; though blood in rivers ran

      Down all her ancient streets; though treasures manifold

      Love-wrought, Time-mellowed, and beyond the price of gold

      Are lost, yet Belgium’s star shines still in God’s vast plan.

      Rarely have Kings been great, since kingdoms first began;

      Rarely have great kings been great men, when all was told.

      But, by the lighted torch in mailèd hands, behold,

      Immortal Belgium’s immortal king, and Man.

      KNITTING

      At the concert and the play

      Everywhere you see them sitting,

      Knitting, knitting.

      Women who the other day

      Thought of nothing but their frocks

      Or their jewels or their locks,

      Women who have lived for pleasure,

      Who have known no work but leisure,

      Now are knitting, knitting, knitting

      For the soldiers over there.

      On the trains and on the ships

      With a diligence befitting,

      They are knitting.

      Some with smiles upon their lips,

      Some with manners debonair,

      Some with earnest look and air.

      But each heart in its own fashion,

      Weaves in pity and compassion

      In their knitting, knitting, knitting

      For the soldiers over there.

      Hurried women to and fro

      From their homes to labour flitting,

      Knitting, knitting,

      Busy handed come and go.

      Broken bits of time they spare,

      Just to feel they do their share,

      Just to keep life’s sense of beauty

      In the doing of a duty,

      They are knitting, knitting, knitting

      For the soldiers over there.

      MOBILISATION

      Oh the Kings of earth have mobilised their men.

      See them moving, valour proving,

      To the fields of glory going,

      Banners flowing, bugles blowing,

      Every one a mother’s son,

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