Orpheus
Beware of when wonder is dully quenched, when speech winds along paths of complacent thought, intrusive, with no concern but for its own constructions, as if in the attempt to win the resistance of what is real, ill-suffered by a meddling ego which only seeks, obstinately, recognition.
Now that you, before the spell of beauty, assessed it with the cold eyes of a physician, secretly disturbed by the responsibility of its call, which means attention, prudence, careful brush strokes on the canvas of life leading to the unknown; now that you, relinquishing to fear and overwhelmed by the burden of form, recurred to a handful of poor definitions, anxiously, to exactly evade that call and linger in reassuring ordinariness; now that you, daunted by the unexpressible, replaced it with precipitous words, unable to bear a matching delicacy; with relief, you think you know what still escapes you, but you are like an Orpheus in each instant turning too soon.
