Tell no one else, only the wise
For the crowd will sneer at one
I wish to praise what is fully alive,
What longs to flame toward death.
When the calm enfolds the love-nights
That created you, where you have been created
A feeling from the Unknown steals over you
While the tranquil candle burns.
You remain no longer caught
In the peneumbral gloom
You are stirred and new, you desire
To soar to higher creativity.
No distance makes you ambivalent
You come on wings, enchanted
In such a hunger for light, you
Become the butterfly burnt to nothing
So long as you have not lived this:
To die is to become new,
You remain a gloomy guest
On the dark earth.
Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.