Why are not they I, and I they?
Can I track back to Creation's steamy bed
And knovv' why I am I, and they are they?
I know I have not made myself,
Nor have they made themselves.
If I am innocent of my goodness,
They are innocent of their badness.
If I am helpless of my genius,
They are helpless of their besottedness.
I have not wrought myself in any part.
Nor they themselves.
We are thrown off, as bubbles by the sea ;
We are as thistledown which voyages upon the unseen
air, Or the globed gossamer of the dandelion Which the wind seedeth. But this I know, there is not one Who would not rather rejoice To walk erect, knowing man's nobility, Leading his soul up to the heights, Above the mists, and dreamful sit a little while beyond
the clouds,
TRUTH: The heart of Man, from the beginning, Has palpitated for the stars.
POET: Yes, I know in the very certainty of my heart There is none who does not prefer To walk among the dewy fields, Psalm with the birds, And in the vastness of the morning Drink the air of greatness.
TRUTH: Man seeks to put on wings And soar toward the sun; But his wings are broken by his own tyranny.
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