Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems

I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people, "Do not weep for me, This is not my true country, I have lived banished from my true country - I now go back there, I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn."

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death. And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

I dance with the dancers.