What are the words of a poet to me?
Not more than the flowing combination of consonants and vowels put together to make a string that has no flowers woven through it.
What are the songs of a musician to me?
Not more than the sounding combination of notes and noises put together to make a wave that has no attenuation to my ears.
What are the pictures of a painter to me?
Not more than the arranged combination of colors and brush-strokes to make a scene that has no image for my eyes.
The beauty of this world is ugly; the charm, charm-less; and the engaging joys, mundane, if you are not there, my Lord.
What we have to do with this world if you are not happy with us. Perhaps you know not that all the worth of this world is lackadaisical before the shining smile on your face.