Poems of Experience by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (best fantasy books to read .TXT) 📖

away With startled looks of scorn or fear, When in life’s crowded marts some day, That name falls on their ear.

I’m pardoned out, ah God! to roam Like some whipped dog among my kind. I have no friends, I have no home, Save these bleak walls I leave behind. How can I face the world of men, My comrades in the days of yore? Oh! hide me in my cell again, And, warden, lock the door.

THE TIDES

Oh, vain is the stern protesting Of winds, when the tide runs high; And vainly the deep-sea waters Call out, as the waves speed by; For, deaf to the claim of the ocean, To the threat of the loud winds dumb, Past reef and bar, to shores afar, They rush when the hour is come.

Vainly the tempest thunders, Of unsexed waves that roam, Away from the mid-sea calmness, Where Nature made their home. For the voice of the great Moon-Mother, Has spoken and said, ‘Be free.’ And the tide must go to the strong full flow, In the time of the perigee.

So vain is the cry of the masters, And vain the plea of the hearth; As the ranks of the strange New Woman Go sweeping across the earth. They have come from hall and hovel, They have pushed through door and gate; On the world’s highway they are crowded to-day, For the hour is the hour of fate.

Many are hurt in the crowding, The light of the home burns dim; And man is aghast at the changes, Though all can be traced to him. They sat too long at the hearthstone, And sat too oft alone: And the silence spoke, and their souls awoke, And now they must claim their own.

Let no man hope to hinder, Let no man bid them pause: They are moved by a hidden purpose, They follow resistless laws. And out of the wreck and chaos Of the order that used to be, A strong new race shall take its place In a world we are yet to see.

Oh, ever has man been leader, Yet failed as woman’s guide. It is better that she step forward, And take her place at his side. For only from greater woman, May come the greater man, Through life’s long quest they should walk abreast - As was meant by the primal plan.

PROGRESSION

To each progressive soul there comes a day When all things that have pleased and satisfied Grow flavourless, the springs of joy seem dried. No more the waters of youth’s fountains play; Yet out of reach, tiptoeing as they may, The more mature and higher pleasures hide. Life, like a careless nurse, fails to provide New toys for those the soul has cast away.

Upon a strange land’s border all alone, Awhile it stands dismayed and desolate. Nude too, since its old garments are outgrown; Till clothed with strength befitting its estate, It grasps at length those raptures that are known To souls who learn to labour, and to wait.

ACQUAINTANCE

Not we who daily walk the city’s Not those who have been cradled in its heart, Best understand its architectural art Or realise its grandeur. Oft we meet Some stranger who has staid his passing feet And lingered with us for a single hour, And learned more of cathedral, and of tower, Than we who deem our knowledge quite complete.

Not always those we hold most loved and dear, Not always those who dwell with us, know best Our greater selves. Because they stand so near They cannot see the lofty mountain crest, The gleaming sun-kissed height, which fair and clear Stands forth—revealed unto the sometime guest.

ATTAINMENT

There is no summit you may not attain, No purpose which you may not yet achieve, If you will wait serenely and believe. Each seeming loss is but a step to’rd gain.

Between the mountain-tops lie vale and plain; Let nothing make you question, doubt, or grieve; Give only good, and good alone receive; And as you welcome joy, so welcome pain.

That which you most desire awaits your word; Throw wide the door and bid it enter in. Speak, and the strong vibrations shall be stirred; Speak, and above earth’s loud, unmeaning din Your silent declarations shall be heard. All things are possible to God’s own kin.

THE TOWER-ROOM

There is a room serene and fair, All palpitant with light and air; Free from the dust, world’s noise and fuss - God’s Tower-room in each of us.

Oh! many a stair our feet must press, And climb from self to selflessness, Before we reach that radiant room Above the discord and the gloom.

So many, many stairs to climb, But mount them gently—take your time; Rise leisurely, nor strive to run - Not so the mightiest feats are done.

Well doing of the little things: Repression of the word that stings; The tempest of the mind made still By victory of the God-like will.

The hated task performed in love - All these are stairs that wind above The things that trouble and annoy, Up to the Tower-room of joy.

Rise leisurely; the stairs once trod Reveal the mountain peaks of God; And from its upper room the soul Sees all, in one united whole.

FATHER

He never made a fortune, or a noise In the world where men are seeking after fame; But he had a healthy brood of girls and boys Who loved the very ground on which he trod. They thought him just a little short of God; Oh you should have heard the way they said his name - ‘Father.’

There seemed to be a loving little prayer In their voices, even when they called him ‘Dad.’ Though the man was never heard of anywhere, As a hero, yet you somehow understood He was doing well his part and making good; And you knew it, by the way his children had Of saying ‘Father.’

He gave them neither eminence nor wealth, But he gave them blood untainted with a vice, And the opulence of undiluted health. He was honest, and unpurchable and kind; He was clean in heart, and body, and in mind. So he made them heirs to riches without price - This father.

He never preached or scolded; and the rod - Well, he used it as a turning pole in play. But he showed the tender sympathy of God To his children in their troubles, and their joys. He was always chum and comrade with his boys, And his daughters—oh, you ought to hear them say ‘Father.’

Now I think of all achievements ‘tis the least To perpetuate the species; it is done By the insect and the serpent, and the beast. But the man who keeps his body, and his thought, WORTH bestowing on an offspring love-begot, Then the highest earthly glory he has won, When in pride a grown-up daughter or a son Says ‘That’s Father.’

THE NEW HAWAIIAN GIRL EXPLANATORY

Kamehameha First, of the Hawaiian Islands, conquered his foes in a great battle, driving them over the high mountain peak known as Pali- -one of the famous scenic views of the world, and the goal of all visitors in Honolulu.

The Hula (pronounced hoola) was the national muscle and abdominal dance of Hawaii, and the late King Kalakua was its enthusiastic patron. The costume of the dancers was composed chiefly of skirts of grass. The Hula (so attired) is now forbidden by law. The Hula Kui is a modification of the dance and exceedingly graceful.

Many charming young self-supporting woman in Honolulu trace their ancestry back to Kamehameha with great pride. The chant is a weird sing-song which relates the conquests of the race.

It is the custom in Honolulu to present guests at feasts and festivals, or departing visitors, with long wreaths of natural flowers, and which are worn by men, as well as women, about the head, hat, and neck. These wreaths, called lais (pronounced lays), sometimes reach below the waist.

The flower-sellers are one of the national features of Honolulu.

Scene made to represent grounds at Hawaiian hotel. Sort of open cafe or pavilion with palms, vines, and tropic flowers. RALPH sitting alone with a dreamy air.

Enter ETHEL—in short travelling suit—typical American girl—blonde and petite.

ETHEL

Oh, here you are. Your sister and your mother Commissioned me detective, sleuth, and spy, To find the disappearing son and brother; And tell him that the time is slipping by. Our boat will sail in just two hours, you know. Dear Honolulu, how I hate to go.

RALPH

Don’t mention it; I shun the very thought.

ETHEL

You see this is the sort of thing one hears And don’t believe, until one sees the spot. We left New York in snow up to its ears; And now a Paradise! the palm, the rose, The Boaganvillia, and the breath of summer.

RALPH

I tell you, Honolulu is a hummer. It pays for six long days upon the ocean - And those sad memories of a ship’s queer motion

ETHEL

There’s one thing, though, that’s disappointed me, - The much exploited Honolulu maid. I haven’t seen a beauty in the town.

RALPH

They’re thick as ripe bananas on a tree. You have not been observing, I’m afraid.

ETHEL (shrugging her shoulders)

Oh well, tastes differ; I don’t care for brown, At least for this pronounced Hawaiian shade; I really can’t imagine how a man Could love a girl dyed to a chronic tan.

RALPH

Some one has said, ‘Love goes where it is sent.’

ETHEL (sadly)

I think that true; one can not guide its bent. But I must go; and will you come along? Your mother said to bring you.

RALPH

Not quite yet; I’ll wait until that bird completes its song; The last I’ll hear, till many a sun has set. Just tell the folks I’ll meet them on the pier.

[Exit ETHEL, looking disappointed.

RALPH (sitting down in a reverie)

A nice girl, Ethel; but, by Jove, it’s queer The way a fellow’s stubborn mind will turn To something that he should forget. That face - I saw once on a San Francisco street, How well I do recall the time and place. ‘A girl from Honolulu,’ some one said. I wonder where she is now! Married? Dead?

[A silent reverie for a moment. Then speaks again.]

I planned this trip with just one crazy thought - To look upon that strange girl’s face once more. That is the luny project which has brought The four of us to this idyllic shore.

[Laughs and lights a cigar.]

My scheme was worked with such consummate care That mother thinks SHE planned the whole affair. Then she invited Ethel as her guest.

[Silence for a moment.]

Well, sometimes mothers know just what is best For wayward sons.

And yet, and yet, and yet, Why is it one girl’s face I can’t forget? Why is it that I feel despondent hearted In missing that fool hope for which I started? Four thousand miles is something of a chase To run to cover one elusive face And then to FAIL.

[Reverie. A chant is heard outside. The man listens. The chant ceases and then a maiden slowly approaches calling out her flower wares, which she carries in a basket; she wears several lais herself, on hat and neck. She does not observe the man at first.]

FLOWER GIRL (calls in a musical voice)

Lais, lais, royal lais, beautiful flowers in bloom; Colours of splendour, fragrance so tender, Blossoms to brighten your room; Lais, lais, royal lais, who buys -

RALPH (leans forward and says aside)

(Eve and the serpent meet in Paradise.)

[He moves forward as the maid enters the doorway. Recognition shows in both faces. Then the maiden recovers her self-possession and starts to go.]

RALPH (with