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Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Bohemia, oer thy unatlassed borders 
How many cross, with half-reluctant feet, 
And unformed fears of dangers and disorders, 
To find delights, more wholesome and more sweet 
Than ever yet were known to the elite.

Herein can dwell no pretence and no seeming; 
No stilted pride thrives in this atmosphere, 
Which stimulates a tendency to dreaming. 
The shores of the ideal world, from here, 
Seem sometimes to be tangible and near.

We have no use for formal codes of fashion; 
No Etiquette f Courts we emulate; 
We know it needs sincerity and passion 
To carry out the plans of God, or fate; 
We do not strive to seem inanimate.

We call no time lost that we give to pleasure; 
Lifes hurrying river speeds to Deaths great sea; 
We cast out no vain plummet-line to measure 
Imagined depths of that unknown To-Be, 
But grasp the Now, and fill it full of glee.

All creeds have room here, and we all together 
Devoutly worship at Arts sacred shrine; 
But he who dwells once in thy golden weather, 
Bohemia--sweet, lovely land of mine-- 
Can find no joy outside thy border-line.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Ella Wheeler Wilcox's other poems:
  1. The Birth of the Opal
  2. At Forty-Eight
  3. Artist and Man
  4. As by Fire
  5. But a Dream

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Edmund Stedman Bohemia ("When buttercups are blossoming")

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