Ella Wheeler Wilcox Poems

There are two kinds of people on earth to-day;
Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.

Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood,
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On the white throat of useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath
I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion
And gathered them close in a grip of death;
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In the rapture of life and of living,
I lift up my head and rejoice,
And I thank the great Giver for giving
The soul of my gladness a voice.
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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
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Soar not too high, O bird of Hope!
Because the skies are fair;
The tempest may come on apace
And overcome thee there.
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I am the Voice of the Voiceless
Through me the dumb shall speak
Till the world's deaf ear be made to hear
The wrongs of the wordless weak.
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They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
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You call me an angel of love and of light,
A being of goodness and heavenly fire,
Sent out from God's kingdom to guide you aright,
In paths where your spirits may mount and aspire.
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Somebody said, in the crowd, last eve,
That you were married, or soon to be.
I have not thought of you, I believe,
Since last we parted. Let me see:
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