If
Twixt what thou art, and what thou wouldst be, let No "If" arise on which to lay the blame. Man makes a mountain of that puny word, But, like a blade of grass before the scythe, It falls and withers when a human will, Stirred by creative force, sweeps toward its aim. Thou wilt be what thou couldst be. Circumstance Is but the toy of genius. When a soul Burns with a god-like purpose to achieve, All obstacles between it and its goal Must vanish as the dew before the sun. "If" is the motto of the dilettante And idle dreamer; 'tis the poor excuse Of mediocrity. The truly great Know not the word, or know it but to scorn, Else had Joan of Arc a peasant died, Uncrowned by glory and by men unsung.
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"Twixt what thou art, and what thou wouldst be, let..."
Ella Wheeler Wilcox's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "If"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...