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by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The impulse of all love is to create.
 God was so full of love, in his embrace
 He clasped the empty nothingness of space,
And low! the solar system! High in state
 The mighty sun sat, so supreme and great
 With this same essence, one smile of its face
Brought myriad forms of life forth; race on race,

  From insects up to men.
Through love, not hate,
 All that is grand in nature or in art
 Sprang into being. He who would build sublime
And lasting works, to stand the test of time,
 Must inspiration draw from his full heart.
 And he who loveth widely, well, and much,
The secret holds of the true master touch.

from Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1883)

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