written by Ella Wheeler WilcoxBefore this scarf was faded,
What hours of mirth it knew;
How gayly it paraded
From smiling eyes to view.
The days were tinged with glory,
The nights too quickly sped,
And life was like a story
Where all the people wed.
Before this rosebud wilted,
How passionately sweet
The wild waltz smelled and lilted
In time for flying feet;
How loud the bassoons muttered,
The horns grew madly shrill,
And oh! the vows lips uttered
That hearts could not fulfill.
Before this fan was broken,
Behind its lace and pearl
What whispered words were spoken,
What hearts were in a whirl;
What homesteads were selected
In Fancy's realm of Spain,
What castles were erected
Without a room for pain.
When this odd glove was mated,
How thrilling seemed the play;
Maybe our hearts are sated--
We tire so soon to-day.
O, thrust away these treasures,
They speak the dreary truth;
We have outgrown the pleasures
And keen delights of youth.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Fri 02.04.2011 at 15:28
Life has its shadows, as well as its sun;
Its lights and its shades, all twined together.
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Thu 01.27.2011 at 21:59
We walk on starry fields of white
And do not see the daisies;
For blessings common in our sight
We rarely offer praises.
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Mon 01.17.2011 at 05:22
Beside us in our seeking after pleasures,
Through all our restless striving after fame,
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Thu 01.13.2011 at 21:52
Into the gloom of the deep, dark night,
With panting breath and a startled scream;
Swift as a bird in sudden flight
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Sun 01.09.2011 at 20:46
God, what a joy it is to plant a tree,
And from the sallow earth to watch it rise,
Lifting its emerald branches to the skies
written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, published on Sun 12.19.2010 at 20:07
Every morning, as I walk down
From my dreary lodgings, toward the town,
I see at a window, near the street,