Poems of Power

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems of Power, by Ella Wheeler
Wilcox (#12 in our series by Ella Wheeler Wilcox)
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Title: Poems of Power
Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Release Date: October, 2004 [EBook #6667]
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one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on January 10,
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Edition: 10
Language: English
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0. START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, POEMS OF
POWER ***
Transcribed from the 1918 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price,
email [email protected]

POEMS OF POWER
Contents:
Note
The Queen's last ride
The Meeting of the Centuries
Death
has Crowned him a Martyr
Grief
Illusion
Assertion
I Am

Wishing
We two
The Poet's Theme
Song of the Spirit

Womanhood
Morning Prayer
The Voices of the People
The
World grows Better
A Man's Ideal
The Fire Brigade
The Tides

When the Regiment came back
Woman to Man
The Traveller
The
Earth
Now
You and To-day
The Reason
Mission
Repetition

Begin the Day
Words
Fate and I
Attainment
A Plea to Peace

Presumption
High Noon
Thought-magnets
Smiles
The
Undiscovered Country
The Universal Route
Unanswered Prayers

Thanksgiving
Contrasts
Thy Ship
Life
A Marine Etching

"Love Thyself Last"
Christmas Fancies

The River
Sorry

Ambition's trail
Uncontrolled
Will
To an Astrologer
The
Tendril's Fate
The Times
The Question
Sorrow's Uses
If

Which are you?
The Creed to be
Inspiration
The Wish
Three
Friends
You never can tell
Here and now
Unconquered
All that
love asks
"Does it pay?"
Sestina
The Optimist
The Pessimist

An Inspiration
Life's Harmonies
Preparation
Gethsemane
God's
Measure
Noblesse Oblige
Through Tears
What we Need
Plea to
Science
Respite
Song
My Ships
Her Love
If
Love's burial

"Love is enough"
Life is a Privilege
Insight
A Woman's Answer

The World's Need
NOTE
The final word in the title of this volume refers to the DIVINE POWER

in every human being, the recognition of which is the secret to all
success and happiness. It is this idea which many of the verses
endeavour to illustrate.
E. W. W.
THE QUEEN'S LAST RIDE
(Written on the day of Queen
Victoria's funeral)
The Queen is taking a drive to-day,
They have hung with purple the
carriage-way,
They have dressed with purple the royal track
Where
the Queen goes forth and never comes back.
Let no man labour as she goes by
On her last appearance to mortal
eye:
With heads uncovered let all men wait
For the Queen to pass,
in her regal state.
Army and Navy shall lead the way
For that wonderful coach of the
Queen's to-day.
Kings and Princes and Lords of the land
Shall ride
behind her, a humble band;
And over the city and over the world

Shall the Flags of all Nations be half-mast-furled,
For the silent lady
of royal birth
Who is riding away from the Courts of earth,
Riding
away from the world's unrest
To a mystical goal, on a secret quest.
Though in royal splendour she drives through town,
Her robes are
simple, she wears no crown:
And yet she wears one, for, widowed no
more,
She is crowned with the love that has gone before,
And
crowned with the love she has left behind
In the hidden depths of
each mourner's mind.
Bow low your heads--lift your hearts on high -
The Queen in silence
is driving by!
THE MEETING OF THE CENTURIES
A curious vision on mine eyes unfurled

In the deep night. I saw, or seemed to see,
Two Centuries meet, and
sit down vis-a-vis
Across the great round table of the world:
One
with suggested sorrows in his mien,
And on his brow the furrowed lines of thought;
And one whose glad
expectant presence brought
A glow and radiance from the realms
unseen.
Hand clasped with hand, in silence for a space
The Centuries sat; the sad old eyes of one
(As grave paternal eyes
regard a son)
Gazing upon that other eager face.
And then a voice,
as cadenceless and gray
As the sea's monody in winter time,
Mingled with tones melodious,
as the chime
Of bird choirs, singing in the dawns of May.
THE OLD CENTURY SPEAKS
By you, Hope stands. With me, Experience walks.
Like a fair jewel in
a faded box,
In my tear-rusted heart, sweet Pity lies.
For all the
dreams that look forth from your eyes,
And those bright-hued
ambitions, which I know
Must fall like leaves and perish, in Time's
snow,
(Even as my soul's garden stands bereft,)
I give you pity! 'tis
the one gift left.
THE NEW CENTURY
Nay, nay, good friend! not pity, but Godspeed,
Here in the morning
of my life I need.
Counsel, and not condolence; smiles, not tears,

To guide me through the channels of the years.
Oh, I am blinded by