POET: He is hideous black against the world. He sits within a dark temple ; And squatting upon the roof is a vulture Whose wings touch the horizon.
TRUTH: Civilization!
POET: The idolaters crowd into the Temple. They circle about the pedestal, praying. Their prayer is loud, so that it blows into the street And, like the dust, is whirled into every comer : "Oh, God of Gold, let nothing be changed. "Thou art our only God. "Thou hast decreed the Things that Are which must not
be changed. "Thou hast ordered all things perfectly ; "We thank thee, God of Gold, for the perfection of thy
ordering. Let nothing be changed; "We are comfortable. "Let the wicked, who seek to change the Things that Are,
be crucified ; "Anarchists !
TRUTH: World-old lie !
Up from primeval slime till now The soul of Man has slowly crept. Shall this then be the end?
POET: Is not Man of Nature, too?
TRUTH: Her child, whom she so loveth that if he heeds not her
voice She will lay him in his grave, as a loving mother her child
in the cradle.
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