Don't You Think That Any Secret Course

A Mob Is Usually A Creature Of Very Mysterious Existence, Particularly In A Large City. Where It Comes From, Or Whither It Goes, Few Men Can Tell. Assembling And Dispersing With Equal Suddenness, It Is As Difficult To Follow To Its Various Sources As The Sea Itself; Nor Does The Parallel Stop Here, For The Ocean Is Not More Fickle And Uncertain, More Terrible When Roused, More Unreasonable Or More Cruel.

I See A Beautiful City And A Brilliant People Rising From This Abyss, And, In Their Struggles To Be Truly Free, In Their Triumphs And Defeats, Through Long Years To Come, I See The Evil Of This Time And Of The Previous Time Of Which This Is The Natural Birth, Gradually Making Expiation For Itself And Wearing Out.

How Beautiful You Are! You Are More Beautiful In Anger Than In Repose. I Don't Ask You For Your Love; Give Me Yourself And Your Hatred; Give Me Yourself And That Pretty Rage; Give Me Yourself And That Enchanting Scorn; It Will Be Enough For Me.

And, Unlike The Celebrated Herd In The Poem, They Were Not Forty Children Conducting Themselves As One, But Every Child Was Conducting Itself Like Forty.

I Only Ask To Be Free. The Butterflies Are Free. Mankind Will Surely Not Deny To Harold Skimpole What It Concedes To The Butterflies.