POET: I seek my laws in the hills and fields. I rejoice in the hills which draw their veils about them
like brides. My heart sings to the primal awakening, And to the unfolding of the leaves.
TRUTH: How shall they bourgeon without freedom? Resolve the sprouting of a grain of wheat, Or shy unfoldment of the oak's young leaves. The poppy-seeds insistent copy of the parent's scarlet
loveliness ; Make but one poppy-seed> Then have you resolved life, and life is all. Then such a man might dare to say unto his brother, "Thou Shalt, or thou shalt not."
POET: Oh, who can make a seed of grass, or bud, Which with its secret alchemy Bears still its proper fruit?
TRUTH: But it is childish-easy to destroy.
POET: Or who can fashion forth a soul?
TRUTH: But it is brutal-easy to destroy a soul. It is the pastime of Civilization.
POET:
How shall the soul live ?
TRUTH: The life of the soul is freedom.
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