Edmund Vance Cooke

It is not the weight of jewel or plate,
Or the fondle of silk or fur;
"Tis read more

It is not the weight of jewel or plate,
Or the fondle of silk or fur;
"Tis the spirit in which the gift is rich,
As the gifts of the Wise Ones were,
And we are not told whose gift was gold,
Or whose was the gift of myrrh.

But as for all the rest,
There's hardly one (I may say none) who stands the Artist's test.
read more

But as for all the rest,
There's hardly one (I may say none) who stands the Artist's test.
The Artist is a rare, rare breed. There were but two, forsooth,
In all me time (the stage's prime!) and The Other One was Booth.

The Moo-cow-moo's got a tail like a rope
En it's ravelled down where it grows,
En it's read more

The Moo-cow-moo's got a tail like a rope
En it's ravelled down where it grows,
En it's just like feeling a piece of soap
All over the moo-cow's nose.

Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted.
There are some you love, I know;
read more

Kisses kept are wasted;
Love is to be tasted.
There are some you love, I know;
Be not loath to tell them so.
Lips go dry and eyes grow wet
Waiting to be warmly met,
Keep them not in waiting yet;
Kisses kept are wasted.

I think I love and reverence all arts equally, only putting my
own just above the others; because in read more

I think I love and reverence all arts equally, only putting my
own just above the others; because in it I recognize the union
and culmination of my own. To me it seems as if when God
conceived the world, that was Poetry; He formed it, and that was
Sculpture; He colored it, and that was Painting; He peopled it
with living beings, and that was the grand, divine, eternal
Drama.