The Mystery Of Art
As a loving mother caresses her child,
I cherish my beloved and tender Muse,
I devote to it all lovable desires/
And give it all my power and my hopes.
It pours into my soul as the light of inspiration,
In order to illuminate my dreary days,
With wonderful adorable Sensation.
Science doesn’t rule above its space.
We can measure the stars from South to West
But we can not gauge the soaring souls of poets.
Nor can we predict the song of the tempest.
Thus we can not accomplish Art with our thoughts.