EternalPoems

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him! -- AUTHOR: Emily Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, United States. She was an American poet and is regarded as one of the most important figures in American poetry. -- ATTRIBUTION: Emily Dickinson's portrait from Unknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. -- AUTHOR: William Ernest Henley was born on August 23, 1849 in Gloucester, England. He was a British poet, writer, critic and editor in late Victorian England. Henley wrote several books of poetry, but he is remembered most often for his 1875 poem "Invictus". -- ATTRIBUTION: William Ernest Henley's portrait from Elliott & Fry, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy; And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility: For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen, And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears. -- AUTHOR: Kahlil Gibran was born on January 6, 1883 in Bsharri, Lebanon. He was a Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist. -- ATTRIBUTION: Kahlil Gibran's portrait from Unknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- I loved you first: but afterwards your love, Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? My love was long, And yours one moment seemed to wax more strong; I loved and guessed at you, you contrued me And loved me for what might or might not be— Nay, weights and measures do us both a wrong. For verily love knows not 'mine' or 'thine'; With separate 'I' and 'thou' free love has done, For one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of 'thine that is not mine'; Both have the strength and both the length thereof, Both of us, of the love which makes us one. -- AUTHOR: Christina Rossetti was born on December 5, 1830 in London, England. She was an English poet who wrote romantic, devotional, and children's poems. -- ATTRIBUTION: Christina Rossetti's portrait from Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. #poem #poetry #inspirational -- AUTHOR: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on February 27, 1807 in Portland, Maine, United States. He was an American poet and educator. -- ATTRIBUTION: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's portrait from Daderot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- When will the stream be aweary of flowing Under my eye? When will the wind be aweary of blowing Over the sky? When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting? When will the heart be aweary of beating? And nature die? Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die. Nothing will die; All things will change Thro’ eternity. ‘Tis the world’s winter; Autumn and summer Are gone long ago; Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro’ and thro’, Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill’d with life anew. The world was never made; It will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind range; For even and morn Ever will be Thro’ eternity. Nothing was born; Nothing will die; All things will change. -- AUTHOR: Alfred Tennyson was born on 6 August 1809 in Somersby, Lincolnshire, England. He was a British poet and the Poet Laureate during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular British poets. -- ATTRIBUTION: Alfred Tennyson's portrait from Julia Margaret Cameron, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Why are people starving? Because the rulers eat up the money in taxes. Therefore the people are starving. Why are the people rebellious? Because the rulers interfere too much. Therefore they are rebellious. Why do people think so little of death? Because the rulers demand too much of life. Therefore the people take life lightly. Having to live on, One knows better than to value life too much. -- AUTHOR: Lao Tzu was an ancient Chinese philosopher and writer. He is the reputed author of the Tao Te Ching, the founder of philosophical Taoism. -- ATTRIBUTION: Lao Tzu's portrait from Noasaurus, CC BY-SA 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0), via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- If tomorrow starts without me, And I’m not there to see, If the sun should rise and find your eyes All filled with tears for me; I wish so much you wouldn’t cry The way you did today, While thinking of the many things We didn’t get to say. I know how much you love me, As much as I love you And each time that you think of me, I know you’ll miss me too. But when tomorrow starts without me Please try to understand, That an angel came and called my name And took me by the hand. And said my place was ready, In heaven far above And that I’d have to leave behind All those I dearly love. But as I turned to walk away A tear fell from my eye. For all my life I’d always thought, I didn’t want to die. I had so much to live for, So much left yet to do. It seemed almost impossible That I was leaving you. I thought of all the yesterdays, The good ones and the bad. I thought of all that we had shared, And all the fun we had. If I could relive yesterday, Just even for a while, I’d say goodbye and kiss you And maybe see you smile. But then I fully realized That this could never be, For emptiness and memories Would take the place of me. And when I thought of worldly things I might miss come tomorrow I thought of you and when I did My heart was filled with sorrow. But when I walked through Heaven's gates I felt so much at home. When God looked down and smiled at me From his great golden throne He said, "This is eternity And all I’ve promised you Today your life on earth is past But here life starts anew. I promise no tomorrow, But today will always last And since each day is the same way There’s no longing for the past. You have been so faithful, So trusting and so true. Though there were times You did some things You knew You shouldn’t do. But you have been forgiven And now at last you’re free. So won’t you come And take my hand And share my life with me?" So when tomorrow starts without me, Don’t think we’re far apart, For every time you think of me, I’m right here in your heart. -- AUTHOR: The poem is attributed to David Romano, although there are no known details about his life. -- COLLABORATION: The Doctor's voice-over from Ben Reads Poetry (formerly The Voice of Poetry) → https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQTbVRQkMdLA4Yq16KlT9YA -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- It is easy enough to be pleasant, When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is one who will smile, When everything goes dead wrong. For the test of the heart is trouble, And it always comes with the years, And the smile that is worth the praises of earth, Is the smile that shines through tears. It is easy enough to be prudent, When nothing tempts you to stray, When without or within no voice of sin Is luring your soul away; But it's only a negative virtue Until it is tried by fire, And the life that is worth the honor on earth, Is the one that resists desire. By the cynic, the sad, the fallen, Who had no strength for the strife, The world's highway is cumbered to-day, They make up the sum of life. But the virtue that conquers passion, And the sorrow that hides in a smile, It is these that are worth the homage on earth For we find them but once in a while. -- AUTHOR: Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on November 5, 1850 in Johnstown, Wisconsin, United States. She was an American author and poet. -- ATTRIBUTION: Ella Wheeler Wilcox's portrait from Charles Ellis Johnson, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow— It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me— Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well— Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met— In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee?— With silence and tears. -- AUTHOR: George Gordon Byron (aka Lord Byron) was born on January 22, 1788 in London, England. He was a poet, a politician and was one of the leading figures of the Romantic movement. -- ATTRIBUTION: Lord Byron's portrait from Daderot, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Defeat, my Defeat, my solitude and my aloofness; You are dearer to me than a thousand triumphs, And sweeter to my heart than all world-glory. Defeat, my Defeat, my self-knowledge and my defiance, Through you I know that I am yet young and swift of foot And not to be trapped by withering laurels. And in you I have found aloneness And the joy of being shunned and scorned. Defeat, my Defeat, my shining sword and shield, In your eyes I have read That to be enthroned is to be enslaved, And to be understood is to be leveled down, And to be grasped is but to reach one’s fullness And like a ripe fruit to fall and be consumed. Defeat, my Defeat, my bold companion, You shall hear my songs and my cries and my silences, And none but you shall speak to me of the beating of wings, And urging of seas, And of mountains that burn in the night, And you alone shall climb my steep and rocky soul. Defeat, my Defeat, my deathless courage, You and I shall laugh together with the storm, And together we shall dig graves for all that die in us, And we shall stand in the sun with a will, And we shall be dangerous. -- AUTHOR: Kahlil Gibran was born on January 6, 1883 in Bsharri, Lebanon. He was a Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist. -- ATTRIBUTION: Kahlil Gibran's portrait from F. Holland Day, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- To-day's your natal day; Sweet flowers I bring: Mother, accept, I pray My offering. And may you happy live, And long us bless; Receiving as you give Great happiness. -- AUTHOR: Christina Rossetti was born on December 5, 1830 in London, England. She was an English poet who wrote romantic, devotional, and children's poems. -- ATTRIBUTION: Christina Rossetti's portrait from Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- One ship drives east and another drives west With the self-same winds that blow; 'Tis the set of the sails And not the gales That tells them the way to go. Like the winds of the sea are the winds of fate As we voyage along through life; 'Tis the set of the soul That decides its goal And not the calm or the strife. -- AUTHOR: Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on November 5, 1850 in Johnstown, Wisconsin, United States. She was an American author and poet. -- ATTRIBUTION: Ella Wheeler Wilcox's portrait from Miscellaneous Items in High Demand, PPOC, Library of Congress, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing Under my eye; Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing Over the sky. One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating Full merrily; Yet all things must die. The stream will cease to flow; The wind will cease to blow; The clouds will cease to fleet; The heart will cease to beat; For all things must die. All things must die. Spring will come never more. O, vanity! Death waits at the door. See! our friends are all forsaking The wine and the merrymaking. We are call’d–we must go. Laid low, very low, In the dark we must lie. The merry glees are still; The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard, Nor the wind on the hill. O, misery! Hark! death is calling While I speak to ye, The jaw is falling, The red cheek paling, The strong limbs failing; Ice with the warm blood mixing; The eyeballs fixing. Nine times goes the passing bell: Ye merry souls, farewell. The old earth Had a birth, As all men know, Long ago. And the old earth must die. So let the warm winds range, And the blue wave beat the shore; For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity. All things were born. Ye will come never more, For all things must die. -- AUTHOR: Alfred Tennyson was born on 6 August 1809 in Somersby, Lincolnshire, England. He was a British poet and the Poet Laureate during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular British poets. -- ATTRIBUTION: Alfred Tennyson's portrait from Julia Margaret Cameron, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- The Good God and the Evil God met on the mountain top. The Good God said, “Good day to you, brother.” The Evil God did not answer. And the Good God said, “You are in a bad humour today.” “Yes,” said the Evil God, “for of late I have been often mistaken for you, called by your name, and treated as if I were you, and it ill-pleases me.” And the Good God said, “But I too have been mistaken for you and called by your name.” The Evil God walked away cursing the stupidity of man. -- AUTHOR: Kahlil Gibran was born on January 6, 1883 in Bsharri, Lebanon. He was a Lebanese-American writer, poet and visual artist. -- ATTRIBUTION: Young Kahlil Gibran's portrait from Unknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. -- AUTHOR: Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874 in San Francisco, California, United States. He was an American poet known for his use of realistic depictions of rural life to examine social and philosophical themes. -- COLLABORATION: Robert Frost's voice-over from Ben Reads Poetry (formerly The Voice of Poetry) → https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQTbVRQkMdLA4Yq16KlT9YA -- ATTRIBUTION: Robert Frost's portrait from Fabrice Dolegowski of https://www.lundeensculpture.com (use with permission) -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me. -- AUTHOR: Emily Dickinson was born on December 10, 1830 in Amherst, Massachusetts, United States. She was an American poet and is regarded as one of the most important figures in American poetry. -- ATTRIBUTION: Emily Dickinson's portrait from Unknown author, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. #poem #poetry #inspirational -- AUTHOR: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born on February 27, 1807 in Portland, Maine, United States. He was an American poet and educator. -- ATTRIBUTION: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's portrait from Daderot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- GO PLACIDLY amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. -- AUTHOR: Max Ehrmann was born on September 26, 1872 in Terre Haute, Indiana, United States. He was an American writer, poet, and attorney; who often wrote on spiritual themes. -- COLLABORATION: Max Ehrmann's voice-over from Ben Reads Poetry (formerly The Voice of Poetry) → https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQTbVRQkMdLA4Yq16KlT9YA -- ATTRIBUTION: Max Ehrmann's portrait from Indiana State University (use with permission) -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.

Visit eternalpoems.org for more... -- Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all,— There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life’s gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain. -- AUTHOR: Ella Wheeler Wilcox was born on November 5, 1850 in Johnstown, Wisconsin, United States. She was an American author and poet. -- ATTRIBUTION: Ella Wheeler Wilcox's portrait from an unidentified photographer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons -- Subscribe to Eternal Poems for more inspiring, motivating, and relaxing classic poems; read by poet avatars, with ambient sounds. Eternal Poems creates its videos from the synergy of works in the public domain, modern media, computer animation, and artificial intelligence to bring the classic poems we love back to life and truly eternal.