FEAR NOT, FOR thou shalt conquer, thy doors will open, thy bonds break. Often thou losest thyself in sleep, and yet must find back thy world again and again. The call comes to thee from the earth and sky the call from among men, the call to sing of gladness and pain, of shame and fear. The leaves and the flowers, the waters that fall and flow, ask for thy notes to mingle with their own, the darkness and light to tremble in the rhythm of thy song.
NO: IT IS NOT yours to open buds into blossoms. Shake the bud, strike it; it is beyond your power to make it blossom. Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces and strew them in the dust. But no colours appear, and no perfume. Ah! it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom. He who can open the bud does it so simply. He gives it a glance, and the life-sap stirs through its veins. At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind. Colours flush out like heart-longings, the perfume betrays a sweet secret. He who can open the bud does it so simply.
