Explore "The Word" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.
You may hammer away on the anvil of thought, / And fashion your word with care, / But unless you are stirred to the depths, that word / Shall die on the empty air.
For the word that comes from the brain alone, / Alone to the brain will speed; / But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays, / Oh! that is the word men heed.