OF THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY
��" My gift of the gab is of the folk. Too coarsely and heartily for angora-rabbits I speak. And still stranger my word soundeth unto all ink-fish and pen- foxes.
My hand is a fool's hand. Woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever hath space left for fools' orna- ments, fools' scribbling !
My foot is a horse foot. With it I trample and trot over logs and stone, crosswise and straight over the fields, and I am the devil's with lust in all my fast running.
My stomach is it an eagle's stomach ? For it liketh best to eat lamb's flesh. But certainly it is a bird's stomach.
Fed on innocent and few things, ready and impatient to fly, to fly away that is now my way. How should not something of birds' ways be in it !
And in particular, that I am an enemy unto the spirit of gravity, that is a bird's way. And, verily, a mortal enemy, an arch-enemy, a born fiend ! Oh !
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