The Hague, The Netherlands
Kaile, I have two, but by the same poet... does that count?
They are both by: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Day's sweetest moments are at dawn;
Refreshed by his long sleep, the Light
Kisses the languid lips of Night,
Ere she can rise an hasten on.
All glowing from his dreamless rest
He holds her closely to his breast,
Warm lip to lip and limb to limb,
Until she dies for love of him.
Art and Heart
Though critics my bow to art, and I am its own true lover,
It is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over.
Though smooth be the heartless prayer, no ear in Heaven will mind it,
And the finest phrase falls dead, if there is no feeling behind it.
Though perfect the players touch, little if any he sways us,
Unless we feel his heart throb through the music he plays us.
Though the poet may spend his life skilfully rounding a measure,
Unless he writes from a full warm heart, he gives us little pleasure.
So it is not the speech which tells, but the impulse which goes with the saying,
And it is not the words of the prayer, but the yearning back of the praying.
It is not the artist's skill, which into our soul comes stealing,
With a joy that is almost pain, but it is the players feeling.
And it is not the poet's song, though sweeter than sweet bells chiming,
Which thrills us through and through, but the heart which beats under the rhyming.
And therefore I say again, though I am art's own true lover,
That it is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over.