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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Noon


As some contented bird doth coo
   She trilled a song of fond delight,
   The while she spread the cloth of white,
And set the cups and plates for two.

She leaned beyond the window sill,
   And looked along the busy street,
   And listened for his coming feet.
The skies were calm, the winds were still.

ТO love, my love, why art thou late?
   The kettle boils, the cloth is spread,
   The clock points close to noon,Т she said.
O clock of time! O clock of fate!

She heard the moonТs glad sound of cheer;
   (The hiss, the whirl, the crash, the creak,
   Of maddened wheels, the awful shriek
Of awestruck men--she did not hear.)

She lightly tripped about the room,
   And near the window, where his eyes
   Might greet it with a pleased surprise,
She placed a pot of fragrant bloom.

Strange nervous steps were at the gate.
   Why grew her heart so cold, so numb?
   The clock struck twelve, the noon had come.
Ah! noon of time! O noon of fate!

A shattered vase beside the wall;
   A young face grey with awful fear,
   A rigid shape, a covered bier,
A shadowed life, and that is all.



Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
  1. When I Die
  2. Victory-1918
  3. Praise Day
  4. Worldly Wisdom
  5. The Women


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Thomas Aird Noon ("At times a bird slides through the glossy air")

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