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.
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You Can’t, If You Can’t Feel It,
Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
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.
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