POET:
The laws of Man are futile. They are engines of Tyranny ; Encumbrances against Nature ; Meddling obstructions.
TRUTH: They proclaim, "Ye shall," and "Ye shall not." And who
dares say so? The Great Mother commands nothing ; prohibits nothing. Tender and pitiless, she permits all things. But the penalty of error is death.
POET: As a little child winking in its cradle, I gaze up at the roof she has put over me ; I see it is frosted with the sparks of eternity. It is forever beyond my finger reach and beautiful beyond
my comprehension, I do not seek to control it ; Yet I seek to control the soul of my brother, Which also is inaccessible, infinite, beyond my
comprehension. I find no flaw in the marching of the worlds ; The unseen gathering of the crystal dew. Or the raging of the relentless sea. The glow-worms, which bear their lamps humbly. As perfect as the sky-flooding moon. The tempest which tears the rooted pillars of the world. Not different from the wanton winds Which negligently play their airy flutes unto the leaves. Yet I instruct my mother.
I look upon the swift rivers which hurry From the breasts of the mountains. Rolling the boulders with dull noises And carrying the wreckage of Time Upon their foaming frontlets. Though they obliterate a city,
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