If Millions Are Born Millions Must Die.

I Have Seen These Ways Of God: I Know Of No Reason For Fire And Change And Torture And The Old Returnings.

If You Should Look For This Place After A Handful Of Lifetimes: Perhaps Of My Planted Forest A Few May Stand Yet, Dark-leaved Australians Or The Coast Cypress, Haggard With Storm-drift; But Fire And The Axe Are Devils. Look For Foundations Of Sea-worn Granite, My Fingers Had The Art To Make Stone Love Stone, You Will Find Some Remnant.

I Believe That The Universe Is One Being, All Its Parts Are Different Expressions Of The Same Energy... Parts Of One Organic Whole.... (this Is Physics, I Believe, As Well As Religion.) The Parts Change And Pass, Or Die, People And Races And Rocks And Stars; None Of Them Seems To Me Important In Itself, But Only The Whole. This Whole Is In All Its Parts So Beautiful, And Is Felt By Me To Be So Intensely In Earnest, That I Am Compelled To Love It, And To Think Of It As Divine.

When The Sun Shouts And People Abound One Thinks There Were The Ages Of Stone And The Age Of Bronze And The Iron Age; Iron The Unstable Metal; Steel Made Of Iron, Unstable As His Mother; The Tow-ered-up Cities Will Be Stains Of Rust On Mounds Of Plaster. Roots Will Not Pierce The Heaps For A Time, Kind Rains Will Cure Them, Then Nothing Will Remain Of The Iron Age And All These People But A Thigh-bone Or So, A Poem Stuck In The World's Thought, Splinters Of Glass In The Rubbish Dumps, A Concrete Dam Far Off In The Mountain.

Poetry Is Not A Civilizer, Rather The Reverse, For Great Poetry Appeals To The Most Primitive Instincts.