| Oh, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song, Or a flame, or a two-edged sword; Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume, Or a drop of gall is a word. You may choose your word like a connoisseur, And polish it up with art, But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays, Is the word that comes from the heart. You may work on your word a thousand weeks, But it will not glow like one That all unsought, leaps forth white hot, When the fountains of feeling run. This poem is in the public domain. |
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