Human beings are part of nature. Anything they do is natural. It's impossible for anything in nature to do anything unnatural.
Can imagination act Perpendicular to fact? Can it be a kite that flies Till the Earth, umbrella-wise, Folds and drops away from sight?
Eyes forward! Sing a paean to the light That God gives us to net the distant stars In eyes that once were blinded with black earth. Man had no time for aught but toll, no space For aught but war. Yet God, in His great love, Has cleared our eyes and given a hint of Power.
One thing is sure, O comrades, that the love That fights to keep us rooted in the earth, But also urges us to dare the stars, This irresistible, this ancient power Wedged in the soul, unshakable, is the light That burns our roots and leaves us free for Space.
The way is open, comrades, free as Space Alone is free. The only gold is love, A coin that we have minted from the light Of others who have cared for us on Earth And who have deposited in us the power That nerves our nerves to seize the burning stars.
Now we have lit a candle to the power Of atoms; now we know we're heirs of light Itself...
Yes, we hope to seed a new, rich earth. We hope to breed a race of men whose power Dwells in hearts as open as all Space Itself, who ask for nothing but the light That rinses the heart of hate so that the stars Above will be below when man has Love.
God, Whose hand holds stars, as we lump earth In our fingers, give us power, give us light To hold all love within our breast's small space.
His wife had held him in her arms as if she could keep death away from him. He had cried out, My God, I am a dead man!
Reader, pray that soon this Iron Age Will crumble, and Beauty escape the rusting cage.
Miles above the Earth we know, Fancy's rocket roars. Below, Here and Now are needles which Sew a pattern black as pitch, Waiting for the rocket's light.
Prometheus, I have no Titan's might, Yet I, too, must each dusk renew my heart, For daytime's vulture talons tear apart The tender alcoves built by love at night.
By now you must have accepted the fact that your religion, in fact, none of the Earthly religions, truly knew what the afterlife would be. All made guesses, and then established these as articles of faith. Though, in a sense, some were near the mark, if you accept their revelations as symbolic.
Sawbeaked epitome of bodiless Idea, tossed by gusts of ether, dive Through abstract mists and raid the sea of fact Eat rich strange fish, grow long bright feathers, press Form's flesh around thought's rib, and so derive From the act of beauty, beauty of the act.
We too. No wisdom to utter. You've beauty, flux, and terror To tell. So've I. And they're Very hard to mutter Through so much chatter and stutter.