In her preface, she said: "It is more than two years since the outline of this simple story first suggested itself to me, and since the first chapters were written.  Many times since then, conscious that I possessed no talent as a novelist, I have resolved to abandon the work.  Yet an unaccountable and mysterious impulse (which no doubt my severe critics will declare as unfortunate, as unaccountable) compelled me to complete it. 
   "I have attempted no fine descriptions, no rare word-paintings, no flights of eloquence.  These things lie not within my province.  As simply and briefly as possible, I have endeavored to relate such events as occur almost daily in our midst."

December 1886

Ella "was shopping in New York and was shown a very beautiful opal, the first she had ever seen, by a Mr. Marcus, a dealer in precious stones, who remarked that he wished she would write a poem about it to be used in a book on gems which he was preparing. He added that the opal had always seemed to him the child of the sunbeam and the moonbeam, but though he had mentioned this idea to several New York poets, none of them had been able to make anything of it. Mrs. Wilcox said she was sure that she could, and the next morning, in about half an hour's time, wrote" the Birth of the Opal.

From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert, 1872- 
Famous single poems and the controversies which have raged around them. 
Freeport, NY : Books for Libraries Press, [1971]. p. 225-242. 
http://192.211.16.13/individuals/edwardsr/ella/bio/bsingle.htm

     " Last year one of my songs was successfully sung at your theatre-- 'Laugh & the world laughs with you.' Another-- a lullaby -- I wish might be introduced this year. I send you a copy of it and if you can make use of it. I shall be pleased for the sake of the musical composer -- a gifted woman whose talent would be recognized more readily if this were done. It would of course give the song great vogue if sung in your theatre."

Transcription by Richard A. Edwards 
Courtesy of the Rare Book, Manuscript, & Special Collections Library, Duke University, Durham, NC 
The original can be seen on our website at:
http://192.211.16.13/individuals/edwardsr/ella/letters/1897124.htm

December 7, 1914
"On Monday, Dec. 7th., the moving pictures of "Summer Days with Ella Wheeler Wilcox" and the photo play of my poem, "The Price He paid" will open in one of the New York Theatres, I belive it is the New York. I loathe the play. It was written by a man famous in the photo play field but my poem was quite lost sight of in the thing he constructed.  However the Warner Features people who have it in hand, think it is going to be a great money maker and hereafter I will, at least, oversee my scenarios, before they are put into films. It was shown at The Globe Theatre last month to the bookers, and I rather dread seeing it again, so I am not going to stay over for it but hurrying home to my three "H's", Husband, Home and Harp." From a letter from Ella to Elsa, December 1, 1914. 

The Price He Paid (1914) Directed by Lawrence B. McGill, Writing credits Ella Wheeler Wilcox  (poem)
Credited cast overview: Thomas V. Emery as Charlie Duke, Reeva Greenwood as Patrice , Philip Hahn as Richard, Edith Hinckle as Mrs. Lyons, Julia Hurley as Granny, Gertrude Shipman as Lucie, Hahn's wife, Jack Standing as The doctor. 
Black and White Silent Film 
Ella's Filmography is available at: http://192.211.16.13/individuals/edwardsr/ella/bib/bibfilm.htm

   Upon December's windy portico 
   The Old Year stood, and looked out where the sun 
   Went wading down the West, through drifting clouds. 
   'I, too, shall sink full soon to rest,' he sighed, 
   'And follow where my children's feet have trod; 
   Brave January, beauteous May and June, 
   My lovely daughters, and my valiant sons, 
   All, all save one, have left me for that bourne 
   Men call the Past.  It seems but yesterday 
   I saw fair August, laughing with the Sea, 
   Snaring the Earth with her seductive wiles, 
   And making conquest, even of the Sun. 
   Yet has she gone, and left me here to mourn.' 
   Then spake December, from an open door: 
   'Father, the night grows cold; come in and rest. 
   Sit with me here beside this glowing grate; 
   I have not left thee; thou art not alone; 
   My house is thine; all warm with love and light, 
   And bright with holly and with cedar sweet. 
   My stalwart arm is thine to lean upon; 
   The feast is spread, I only wait for thee; 
   God smiles upon thy dead, smile thou on me.' 
   Then through the open door the Old Year passed 
   And darkness settled on the outer world. 

Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels.
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
London: Gay & Hancock, 1911. 

 Once in a while, in this world so strange, 
    To lighten our sad regrets, 
 We find a heart that is true through change-- 
    A heart that never forgets. 
 Oh rare as a blossoming rose in December-- 
    As a bird in an Arctic clime, 
 Is a heart, a heart that can remember 
    Through sorrow and change and time. 

 Once in a while we find a love 
    That will live through life and death, 
 Ay! that will follow the soul above, 
    Not passing away with the breath. 
 But rarer, oh rarer by far and stranger 
    Than a spring in the desert sand, 
 Is a love that will last, with toil, and danger, 
    And strife on every hand. 

 Once in a while we find a friend 
    That will cling through good or ill, 
 Whose friendship follows us e'en to the end, 
    Be it up or adown the hill, 
 But the heart so true, and the love so tender, 
    And friendship's faithful smile, 
 Whether we dwell in squalor or splendor, 
    We find but "once in a while." 

                    1872

Shells by Ella Wheeler
Milwaukee: Hauser & Storey, 1873. 

   As the dead year is clasped by a dead December, 
      So let your dead sins with your dead days lie. 
   A new life is yours, and a new hope. Remember, 
      We build our own ladders to climb to the sky. 
   Stand out in the sunlight of Promise, forgetting 
      Whatever the Past held of sorrow or wrong. 
   We waste half our strength in a useless regretting; 
      We sit by old tombs in the dark too long. 

   Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining. 
      Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next. 
   Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining. 
      Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve for a text. 
   As each year hurries by let it join that procession 
      Of skeleton shapes that march down to the Past, 
   While you take your place in the line of Progression, 
      With your eyes on the heavens, your face to the blast. 

   I tell you the future can hold no terrors 
      For any sad soul while the stars revolve, 
   If he will stand firm on the grave of his errors, 
      And instead of regretting, resolve, resolve. 
   It is never too late to begin rebuilding, 
      Though all into ruins your life seems hurled, 
   For see how the light of the New Year is gilding 
      The wan, worn face of the bruised old world. 

Poetical works of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
Edinburgh : W. P. Nimmo, Hay, & Mitchell, 1917. 

 Linger, linger, oh royal year! 
    For I grieve to see you dying. 
 Rest on the hilltops---loiter near; 
    Wait, O Time, in your flying. 
 For never, in all the twice ten years, 
    You have brought to build my twenty, 
 Never was one so free from tears-- 
    So overflowing with plenty. 

 Filled to the brim with the purest draughts, 
    That I sip in fearless pleasure; 
 While an unseen spirit watches and laughs, 
    And again refills the measure. 
 My brightest dreams, and my fondest hopes, 
    The year has gathered together, 
 And right bountifully they have come to me, 
    From the Spring to the Autumn weather. 

 The rarest of flowers, subtle and sweet, 
    That grew in the world Ideal, 
 Have dropped their seeds in the soil at my feet, 
    And blossomed among the Real. 
 And Love, like a rose, still blossoms and blows, 
    Passion-hearted, yet tender. 
 And my path is strewn with the glories of June, 
    And I'm hedged about with its splendor. 

 Care flew over the hills, one day, 
    And I sang, as he swift retreated; 
 And Hope took his crown, and Joy settled down, 
    On the throne where Care had been seated. 
 Contentment hedged me all round about, 
    And Love built his blazing fire; 
 And Happiness poured his treasures out, 
    And left me with no desire. 

 I have walked breast high in a sea of bliss: 
    I have loved my God, and my brother. 
 There never before was a year like this-- 
    There never can be another. 
 Linger, loiter, a little while, 
    For I grieve to see you dying! 
 But even in grief, I can only smile, 
    For my heart is too light for sighing. 

            December, 1870

Shells by Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
Milwaukee: Hauser & Storey, 1873.