The Art of Feeling

Scarlet flows the blood
From feeling hearts.
Roses blossom from the bud
For the sake of their Art

Their bleeding hearts
That feel too much
Forsake life for their Art,
Cut by the gentlest touch

They who feel too much
Are injured in turn
From the slightest touch,
A life none should yearn

When all have had their turn,
Petals whither off the bud.
Lives no one would yearn—
Scars, let flow the blood!