How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man,

Never Did Poesy Appear So Full Of Heaven To Me, As When I Saw How It Would Pierce Through Pride And Fear To The Lives Of Coarsest Men.

How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man, Grave Copier Of Copies.

Freedom Needs All Her Poets; It Is They Who Give Her Aspirations Wings, And To The Wiser Law Of Music Sway Her Wild Imaginings.

True Freedom Is To Share All The Chains Our Brothers Wear, And, With Heart And Hand, To Be Earnest To Make Others Free!

Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic Bolts The Firefly Threw.