A thought.it reads:
The text is not enough, the text!
Words spoken here as hexed
They were; but I repeat myself
Find me the source of wealth
Of the memory of our people
If you or I are still able
Or do we sit perplexed?
The music is old, that musical
Not a song and dance at all
But a thing, and at last a place
As though no mask, but a face
And one alive with expression
Not any ire of repression
On such may we call?
The people here are not gray
Not shifting strawmen astray
In a wasteland, but men as men
Great and small without, within
Bright and dark and somber and glad
Thought of good, thought of bad
Thought worth time to say?
Man as terrible Man, and quite not
Human, not neutral even for a spot
But never disposable in kind
No beast, but edging close in mind
Upward -- for both even and odd
You begin to see the god!, the god
Where is becomes the ought.