Am A Parcel Of Vain Strivings Tied

I am a parcel of vain strivings tied By a chance bond together, Dangling this way and that, their links Were made so loose and wide, Methinks, For milder weather.

A bunch of violets without their roots, And sorrel intermixed, Encircled by a wisp of straw

Once coiled about their shoots, The law By which I'm fixed.

A nosegay which Time clutched from out Those fair Elysian fields, With weeds and broken stems, in haste, Doth make the rabble rout That waste The day he yields.

And here I bloom for a short hour unseen, juices up, With no root in the land

To keep my branches green,

But stand In a bare cup.

— Henry David Thoreau

My head knocks against the stars. My feet are on the hilltops.

My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of universal life.

Down in the sounding foam of primal things I reach my hands and play with pebbles of destiny.

I have been to hell and back many times. I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God. I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible. I know the passionate seizure of beauty

And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive in the universe.

— Carl Sandburg

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