How like the sea, the myriad-minded sea, Is this large love of ours: so vast, so deep, So full of myseries! it, too, can keep Its secrets, like the ocean; and is free, Free, as the boundless main. Now it may be Calm like the brow of some sweet child asleep; Again its seething billows surge and leap And break in
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“The Year” was published in Poetical Works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox (W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917).
What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That's not been said a thousand times?
The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.
We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.
We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.
We live, we love, we woo, we wed,
We wreathe our brides, we sheet our dead.
We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,
And that's the burden of the year.
This poem is in the public domain.
This poem is in the public domain.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born in 1850 in Johnstown Center, Wisconsin. Her poetry collections include Poems of Passion (W. B. Conkey Company, 1883) and Poems of Peace (Gay & Bird, 1906).
by this poet
Through all the weary, hot midsummer time,
My heart has struggled with its awful grief.
And I have waited for these autumn days,
Thinking the cooling winds would bring relief.
For I remembered how I loved them once,
When all my life was full of melody.
And I have looked and longed for
Oh! we love all the French, and we speak in French
As along through France we go.
But the moments to us that are keen and sweet
Are the ones when our khaki boys we meet,
Stalwart and handsome and trim and neat;
And we call to them—‘Boys, hello!’
‘Hello, American boys,
Luck to you
Letters swallow themselves in seconds. Notes friends tied to the doorknob, transparent scarlet paper, sizzle like moth wings, marry the air. So much of any year is flammable, lists of vegetables, partial poems. Orange swirling flame of days, so little is a stone. Where there
I New Year's The solid houses in the mist are thin as tissue paper; the water laps slowly at the rocks; and the ducks from the north are here at rest on the grey ripples. The company in which we went so free of care, so carelessly, has scattered. Good-bye, to you who lie
Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay— Stay till the good old year, So long companion of our way, Shakes hands, and leaves us here. Oh stay, oh stay, One little hour, and then away. The year, whose hopes were high and strong, Has now no hopes to wake; Yet one