FOR A MAN OF TASTE

You who sniff the bouquet of the finest words will not understand mine: they have no scent.
You who seek clear water should not drink mine, red with blood.
You who drink wine from your silver cup do not know the road to the spring, and do not know the taste of water from cupped hands.
You know everything, and have forgotten everything.
You think you are the master, and not the younger brother of everything you name.
You forget the roots of what you call "My Work" -- you have forgotten life and death, that these are your work.>You were not called to earth to impose dikes and order on the marvellous disorder of things: you were called to name them, to speak with them without raising barricades to their glory. You were called to make the millwheel run with your transitory flow. -- you have forgotten life and death, that these are your work.

And that the song you sing today will one day be mingled and submerged in the music of other waves.

--Jose Hierro (20th century Spanish poet, slightly abridged and translated)