After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires, Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze, He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete. . Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?
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Virginia Woolf
Remembrance and reflection how allied! What thin partitions Sense from Thought divide!
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Alexander Pope
Don't be afraid of poetry.
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Clifton Fadiman
No one could say the stories were uselessfor as the tongue clackedfive or forty fingers stitchedcorn was grated from the huskpathwork was piecedor the darning was done...(from 'The Storyteller Poems')
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Liz Lochhead
You bear a sword and shield, remind meof her labor, her stoning gaze. What beastwill your blade free next? What call will you loosefrom another woman's throat?
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Donika Kelly
More Quotes By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
A weed is but an unloved flower.
Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.
We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest; And deal full many a thoughtless blow, To those who love us best.
We two make banquets of the plainest fare In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure... For us life always moves with lilting measure We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure
