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Poems of Purpose

<h1>POEMS OF PURPOSE</h1> BY ELLA WHEELER WILCOX <ANTIMG alt="Decorative graphic" title= "Decorative graphic" src="images/tps.jpg" /> GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD. 54 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN LONDON 1919 All rights reserved <h2>p. vCONTENTS</h2> <table> <tr> <td>  </td> <td>PAGE </td> </tr> <tr> <td>A Good Sport </td> <td>1 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>A Son Speaks </td> <td>5 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Younger Born </td> <td>9 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Happiness </td> <td>14 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Seeking for Happiness </td> <td>18 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Island of Endless Play </td> <td>20 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The River of Sleep </td> <td>23 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Things that Count </td> <td>25 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Limitless </td> <td>27 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>What They Saw </td> <td>28 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Convention </td> <td>32 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Protest </td> <td>35 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>A Bachelor to a Married Flirt </td> <td>37 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Superwoman </td> <td>40 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Certitude </td> <td>43 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Compassion </td> <td>44 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Love </td> <td>45 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Three Souls </td> <td>46 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>When Love is Lost </td> <td>49 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Occupation </td> <td>50 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Valley of Fear </td> <td>53 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>What would it be? </td> <td>55 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>p. viAmerica </td> <td>57 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>War Mothers </td> <td>60 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>A Holiday </td> <td>64 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Undertone </td> <td>66 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Gypsying </td> <td>69 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Song of the Road </td> <td>71 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Faith we Need </td> <td>73 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Price he Paid </td> <td>76 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Divorced </td> <td>79 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Revealing Angels </td> <td>83 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Well-born </td> <td>87 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Sisters of Mine </td> <td>89 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Answer </td> <td>91 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Graduates </td> <td>93 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Silent Tragedy </td> <td>95 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Trinity </td> <td>99 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Unwed Mother to the Wife </td> <td>101 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Father and Son </td> <td>104 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Husks </td> <td>107 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>Meditations </td> <td>109 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>The Traveller </td> <td>113 </td> </tr> <tr> <td>What Have You Done? </td> <td>115 </td> </tr> </table> <div class="gapspace"> </div> p. viiN.B.—The only volumes of my Poems issued with my approval in the British Empire are published by Messrs. Gay & Hancock. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX. <h2>A GOOD SPORT</h2> I was a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier: They called to me: ‘Be a sport: be a sport!  Leap in and swim!’ I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke. Then I was made a hero, and they all shouted:    ‘Well done!  Well done, Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!’ And I was very glad. But now I wish I had learned to swim the right way,    Or had never learned at all. Now I regret that day,    For it led to my fall. I was a youth, and I heard the older men talking of the road to wealth; They talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins, And they said, ‘Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it all! It is the only way to fortune.’ So I plunged in and won; and the older men patted me on the back, And they said, ‘You are a sport, my boy, a good sport!’ And I was very glad. But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on that day—    Yes, wish I had lost it all. For it was the wrong way,    And pushed me to my fall. I was a young man, and the gay world called me to come; Gay women and gay men called to me, crying:    ‘Be a sport; be a good sport! Fill our glasses and let us fill yours. We are young but once; let us dance and sing, And drive the dull hours of night until they stand at bay Against the shining bayonets of day.’ So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over again, And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang, And I heard them cry, ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ As they held their glasses out to be filled again. And I was very glad. Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine, Of woman’s eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn! And now I wish I had not gone that way. Now I wish I had not heard them say, ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ For I am old who should be young. The splendid vigour of my youth I flung Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng. My strength went out with wine and dance and song; Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff, With idle jest and laugh, The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth Of unused power and health— Its dream of looking into some pure girl’s eyes And finding there its earthly paradise— Its hope of virile children free from blight— Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height Of great achievement—all these gifts divine I cast away for song and dance and wine. Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport; But I am very sad. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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