The house is like a garden,
The children are the flowers,
The gardener should come methinks
And walk among his bowers,
Oh! lock the door on worry
And shut your cares away,
Not time of year, but love and cheer,
Will make a holiday.
Impossible! You women do not know
The toil it takes to make a business grow.
I cannot join you until very late,
So hurry home, nor let the dinner wait.
The feast will be like Hamlet
Without a Hamlet part:
The home is but a house, dear,
Till you supply the heart.
The Xmas gift I long for
You need not toil to buy;
Oh! give me back one thing I lack ?
The love-light in your eye.
Of course I love you, and the children too.
Be sensible, my dear, it is for you
I work so hard to make my business pay.
There, now, run home, enjoy your holiday.
The Wife (turning)
He does not mean to wound me,
I know his heart is kind.
Alas! that man can love us
And be so blind, so blind.
A little time for pleasure,
A little time for play;
A word to prove the life of love
And frighten care away!
Tho? poor my lot in some small cot
That were a holiday.
The Husband (musing)
She has not meant to wound me, nor to vex ?
Zounds! but ?tis difficult to please the sex.
I?ve housed and gowned her like a very queen
Yet there she goes, with discontented mien.
I gave her diamonds only yesterday:
Some women are like that, do what you may.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Mon 11.15.2010 at 15:03
When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat;
I had a taste for singing and playing and all that.
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Thu 11.11.2010 at 05:47
?Tis time to dress.Dost hear the music surging
Like sobbing waves that roll up from the sea?
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Wed 11.03.2010 at 17:35
The longer I live and the more I see
Of the struggle of souls towards the heights above,
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Mon 11.01.2010 at 14:33
Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy,
Is inspiration, eager to pursue,
But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy,
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Wed 10.27.2010 at 07:48
So vast the tide of Love within me surging,
It overflows like some stupendous sea,
The confines of the Present and To-be;