The Word

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.