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Distrust that man who tells you to distrust.

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
Distrust
Tells
Men

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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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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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Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear, your head like the golden rod, and we will go sailing away from here to the beautiful Land Of Nod.
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There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.
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There is nothing ridiculous in love.
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The spark divine dwells in thee: let it grow.
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A day which passed without a poem from my pen I considered lost and misused.
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Distrust that man who tells you to distrust. He takes the measure of his own small soul, and thinks the world no larger.
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Let the dream go. Are there not other dreams In vastness of clouds hid from thy sight That yet shall gild with beautiful gold gleams, And shoot the shadows through and through with light? What matters one lost vision of the night? Let the dream go!
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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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One ship drives east and another drives west With the selfsame winds that blow. Tis the set of the sails And not the gales Which tells us the way to go. Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate, As we voyage along through the life: Tis the set of a soul That decides its goal, And not the calm or the strife.
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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?
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I like the roar of cities. In the mart, Where busy toilers strive for place and gain, I seem to read humanity's great heart, And share its hopes, its pleasures, and its pain.
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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?
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All the past is not worth one today.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Talk health. The dreary, never-changing tale Of mortal maladies is worn and stale. You cannot charm, or interest, or please By harping in that minor chord, disease. Say you are well, or all is well with you, And God shall hear your words and make them true.
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.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The passion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced. You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter: And when the tempest nears, with wail and din, I know your calm forgetfulness is broken, And to your heart you whisper, He has spoken.
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So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.
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Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need, Or sin by silence when I should defend... The world is better that I lived to-day.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox