Towards democracy

378 Towards Democracy

In the wonderful height of heaven the clouds are flocked like sails,

Slow moving, floating, rounding from deep to deep.

The light swims slowly, changing over the world,

The distant peaks are touched ; and the hills lie silent.

Who sees, who hears?

The fox-gloves tall out of the earth arise;

They stand up out of green shadow;

Out of night, out of seeds dim in the earth arising,

They look forth on the blue and green wilderness, and are changed as it changes—

Changed out of all recognition.

Who sees, who hears P—

For all things melt and run—if you only watch them long enough!

And you cannot emprison anything in one shape—it will surely give you the slip.

Nothing in essence dies, and nothing in mortal form _ remains. All is in movement, long calculated, long determined on, with regard to another kind of Form.

The diamond that you wear in your hair, the gold piece _ you hold so solid in your hand—they are no more solid than a swarm of bees is solid, of which the units are in constant motion to and fro, some leaving and some joining the swarm. |

They have other business than yours to attend to—they have other spheres beside the market and the drawing-roomand they will surely give you the slip.