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I Love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Age: 68 †
Born: 1850
Born: November 5
Died: 1919
Died: October 30
Author
Poet
Writer
Janesville
Wisconsin
Love
Wet
Wicked
Sexy
Red
Lips
Wine
Desire

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Day's sweetest moments are at dawn.
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It stands in the light transfigured, It speaks from the heights above, Each Soul Is Its Own Redeemer There Is No Law But Love.
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Content is not the pathway to great deeds.
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Love is the impulse which directs the world, And all things know it and obey its power. Man, in the maelstrom of his passions whirled The bee that takes the pollen to the flower The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast To fervent kisses of the amorous sun-- Each but obeys creative Love's behest, Which everywhere instinctively is done.
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The art of being kind is all the world needs.
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High in the heavens I saw the moon this morning, Albeit the sun shone bright Unto my soul it spoke, in voice of warning, Remember Night!
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Let no man pray that he know not sorrow, Let no soul ask to be free from pain, For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow, And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain.
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Trust in thine own untried capacity As thou wouldst trust in God himself. Thy soul Is but an emanation from the whole. Thou dost not dream what forces lie in thee, Vast and unfathomed as the grandest sea.
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It has always been my belief that children inherit the suppressed tendencies of their parents. A clergyman's son frequently shows abnormal tastes for the pleasures that his father denied himself.
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When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long. Thank God for sending kind death as an ending, Like a grand Amen to a minor song.
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Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.
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Hell is wherever Love is not, and Heaven Is Love's location. No dogmatic creed, No austere faith based on ignoble fear Can lead thee into realms of joy and peace. Unless the humblest creatures on the earth Are bettered by thy loving sympathy Think not to find a Paradise beyond.
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Time sped. And the poet through sorrow Became like his suffering kind. Again he toiled over his poems To lighten the grief of his mind.
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Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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For here lies the pleasure of living: In taking God's bounties, and giving The gifts back again.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving Let thy faith speak for thee.
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The sin and the shame and the sorrow, The crime and the want and the woe That are born there in your workshop, No hand can paint, you know.
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Then I turned to him commanding That he go the way he came, whence he came. But he answered me in sorrow, May the Past not seek to borrow From the Present without blame - Just one memory from its store, Ere it goes to come no more, Back the pathway that it came, whence it came?
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