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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
Desire
Love
Wet
Wicked
Sexy
Red
Lips
Wine

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Give, and thou shalt receive. Give thoughts of cheer,Of courage and success, to friend and stranger.And from a thousand sources, far and near,Strength will be sent thee in thy hour of danger.
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Thank Fate for foes! I hold mine dear As valued friends. He cannot know The zest of life who runneth here His earthly race without a foe.
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Content is not the pathway to great deeds.
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And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin, But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin. And she pricks you, and she sticks you, in a way that can't be said, When you seek for what has hurt you, why, you cannot find the head.
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Love gives us copious potions of delight, Of pain and ecstasy, and peace and care Love leads us upward, to the mountain height, And, like an angel, stands beside us there Then thrusts us, demon-like, in some abyss: Where, in the darkness of despair, we grope, Till, suddenly, Love greets us with a kiss And guides us back to flowery fields of hope.
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We ought to make the moments notes Of happy glad Thanksgiving The hours and days, a silent praise Of music we are living.
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You are your own devil, you are your own God, You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod, And no one can save you from error or sin, Until you shall hark to the Spirit within.
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And however dark the skies may appear, And however souls may blunder, I tell you it all will work out clear, For good lies over and under.
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But now I know that there is no killing A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death. There is no hushing, there is no stilling That which is part of your life and breath. You may bury it deep, and leave behind you The land, the people that knew your slain It will push the sods from its grave, and find you On wastes of water or desert plain.
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There is room in the halls of pleasure for a large and lordly train, but one by one we must all file on through the narrow aisles of pain.
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Just a little every day That's the way Children learn to read and write Bit by bit and mite by mite.
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No question is ever settled until it is settled right.
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Oh! not for the great departed, Who formed our country's laws, And not for the bravest-hearted, Who died in freedom's cause, And not for some living hero To whom all bend the knee, My muse would raise her song of praise - But for the man to be.
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Ah, lady! it is hardly what you thought it, This life of luxury and social power You gave yourself as principal, and bought it, But God extracts the interest hour by hour.
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Who would attain to summits still and fair,Must nerve himself through valleys of despair.
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And the smile that is worth the praises of earth is the smile that shines through tears.
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The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world. And from the discontent of man The worlds best progress springs.
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Whatever is... is best.
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When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new. This restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb, and to seek the mountain view.
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No fate could rob us of our own-- No circumstance can make it less What time removes was but a loan, For what was ours we still possess.
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