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In "Poems of Optimism," Ella Wheeler Wilcox eloquently explores the themes of hope, resilience, and the transformative power of positive thinking through her rich and evocative poetry. Wilcox's literary style embodies a seamless blend of rhythmic elegance and accessible language, allowing her profound insights to resonate with a broad audience. Published during the late 19th and early 20th centuries'Äîa period characterized by social change and the rise of progressive ideologies'Äîthis collection reflects the zeitgeist of an era that sought to uplift the human spirit amidst adversity. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, an influential American poet and author, was a prominent figure in the literary community of her time. Her unwavering belief in the positive potential of humanity and her personal experiences with sorrow and loss deeply informed her work. Wilcox's engagement with contemporary social issues, such as women's rights and the pursuit of happiness, further added layers of depth to her optimistic perspective, making her poetry resonate on both personal and societal levels. Readers seeking inspiration and a reminder of the power of optimism in navigating life's challenges will find solace in "Poems of Optimism." This collection serves not only as a testament to Wilcox's literary gift but also as an invitation to cultivate a more positive outlook amidst the complexities of existence.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Our hearts were not set on fighting, We did not pant for the fray, And whatever wrongs need righting, We would not have met that way. But the way that has opened before us Leads on thro’ a blood-red field; And we swear by the great God o’er us, We will die, but we will not yield.
The battle is not of our making, And war was never our plan; Yet, all that is sweet forsaking, We march to it, man by man. It is either to smite, or be smitten, There’s no other choice to-day; And we live, as befits the Briton, Or we die, as the Briton may.
We were not fashioned for cages, Or to feed from a keeper’s hand; Our strength which has grown thro’ ages Is the strength of a slave-free land. We cannot kneel down to a master, To our God alone can we pray; And we stand in this world disaster, To fight, like a lion at bay.
Ruined? destroyed? Ah, no; though blood in rivers ran Down all her ancient streets; though treasures manifold Love-wrought, Time-mellowed, and beyond the price of gold Are lost, yet Belgium’s star shines still in God’s vast plan.
Rarely have Kings been great, since kingdoms first began; Rarely have great kings been great men, when all was told. But, by the lighted torch in mailèd hands, behold, Immortal Belgium’s immortal king, and Man.
At the concert and the play Everywhere you see them sitting, Knitting, knitting. Women who the other day Thought of nothing but their frocks Or their jewels or their locks, Women who have lived for pleasure, Who have known no work but leisure, Now are knitting, knitting, knitting For the soldiers over there.
On the trains and on the ships With a diligence befitting, They are knitting. Some with smiles upon their lips, Some with manners debonair, Some with earnest look and air. But each heart in its own fashion, Weaves in pity and compassion In their knitting, knitting, knitting For the soldiers over there.
Hurried women to and fro From their homes to labour flitting, Knitting, knitting, Busy handed come and go. Broken bits of time they spare, Just to feel they do their share, Just to keep life’s sense of beauty In the doing of a duty, They are knitting, knitting, knitting For the soldiers over there.
Oh the Kings of earth have mobilised their men. See them moving, valour proving, To the fields of glory going, Banners flowing, bugles blowing, Every one a mother’s son, Brave with uniform and gun, Keeping step with easy swing, Yes, with easy step and light marching onward to the fight, Just to please the warlike fancy of a King; Who has mobilised his army for the strife.
