Hey, try to open up your heart
To beauty; go to the woods someday
And weave a wreath of memory there.
If the tears obscure your way,
You’ll know how wonderful it is to be alive.
from “I Never Saw Another Butterfly”
© 1944 Schocken
“my self, abandoned and devoid of shame, through the wide world your actions will proclaim: Or though I’m prisoned in this lonely den, obscured and buried from the sight of men, my mournful voice the pitying rocks shall move, and my complainings echo through the grove.”
”art makes up what fortune has denied.”
from Philomela, Ovid’s Metamorphoses
Why do they shut me out of Heaven? Did I sing too loud?