Life Seems So Vulgar, So Easily Content

You Can’t, If You Can’t Feel It, If It Never Rises From The Soul, And Sways The Heart Of Every Single Hearer, With Deepest Power, In Simple Ways. You’ll Sit Forever, Gluing Things Together, Cooking Up A Stew From Other’s Scraps, Blowing On A Miserable Fire, Made From Your Heap Of Dying Ash. Let Apes And Children Praise Your Art, If Their Admiration’s To Your Taste, But You’ll Never Speak From Heart To Heart, Unless It Rises Up From Your Heart’s Space.

To Live Within Limits. To Want One Thing. Or A Few Things Very Much And Love Them Dearly. Cling To Them, Survey Them From Every Angle. Become One With Them - That Is What Makes The Poet, The Artist, The Human Being.

Sound And Sufficient Reason Falls, After All, To The Share Of But Few Men, And Those Few Men Exert Their Influence In Silence.

He Who Enjoys Doing And Enjoys What He Has Done Is Happy.

All Lyrical Work Must, As A Whole, Be Perfectly Intelligible, But In Some Particulars A Little Unintelligible.