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.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet. Solitude (l. 1-4). . . One Hundred and One Famous Poems. Roy J. Cook, comp. (Rev. ed., 1958) Reilly & Lee Company; reprinted 1981 by Contemporary Books.)

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet. Solitude (l. 9-12). . . One Hundred and One Famous Poems. Roy J. Cook, comp. (Rev. ed., 1958) Reilly & Lee Company; reprinted 1981 by Contemporary Books.)

All love that has not friendship for its base,
Is like a mansion built upon the sand.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-1919), U.S. poet, journalist. Upon the Sand.)

There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a large and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet. Solitude (l. 21-24). . . One Hundred and One Famous Poems. Roy J. Cook, comp. (Rev. ed., 1958) Reilly & Lee Company; reprinted 1981 by Contemporary Books.)

It's the set of the sails and not the gales,
That bids them where to go.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet. The Winds of Fate (l. 3-4). . . Favorite Poems in Large Print. Virginia S. Reiser, ed. (1981) G. K. Hall & Company.)

It's the set of the soul that decides the goal,
And not the storms or the strife.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet. The Winds of Fate (l. 7-8). . . Favorite Poems in Large Print. Virginia S. Reiser, ed. (1981) G. K. Hall & Company.)

Give us that grand word "woman" once again,
And let's have done with "lady"; one's a term
Full of fine force, strong, beautiful, and firm,
Fit for the noblest use of tongue or pen;
And one's a word for lackeys.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-1919), U.S. poet, journalist. Woman.)

With care, and skill, and cunning art,
She parried Time's malicious dart,
And kept the years at bay,
Till passion entered in her heart
And aged her in a day!

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919), U.S. poet, journalist. The Destroyer.)

He may not shine with courtly graces,
But yet, his kind, respectful air
To woman, whatsoe'er her place is,
It might be well if kings could share.
So, for the chivalric true gentleman,
Give me, I say, our own American.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-1919), U.S. poet, journalist. "The True Knight.")

It has ever been since time began,
And ever will be, till time lose breath,
That love is a mood?no more?to man,
And love to a woman is life or death.

(Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-1919), U.S. poet, journalist. Blind, st. 1.)