No, Damon, what's an answer worth to one Whose mind has been flung open? Only last night, The gates of my spirit gave entrance Unto the great light; And I saw how virtue seduceth, Not ended today or tomorrow Like the passion for love, Like the passion for life-- But perennial pain And age-long effort. Dead deeds are the teeth that shine In the mouth that repeateth praise, That spurs men to do high things Since their fathers did higher before-- To give more than they hope to receive, To slave and to die in a secular cause! The mouth that smiles over-praise Eats out the heart of each fool To feed the great dream of a race. Yet wearied peoples each in turn awake From virtue, as a man from his brief love, And, roughly shaken, face the useless truth; No answer to brute fact has e'er been found. Slaves of your slaves, caged in your furnished rooms, Ushered to meals when reft of appetite-- Though hungry, bound to wait a stated hour-- Your dearest contemplation broken off By the appointed summons to your bath; Racked with more thought for those whom you may flog Than for those dear; obsessed by your possessions With a dull round of stale anxieties;-- Soon maintenance grows the extreme reach of hope For those held in respect, as in a vice, By citizens of whom they are the pick. Of men the least bond is the roving seaman Who hires himself to merchantman or pirate For single voyages, stays where he may please, Lives his purse empty in a dozen ports, And ne'er obeys the ghost of what once was! His laugh chimes readily; his kiss, no symbol Of aught to come, but cordial, eager, hot, Leaves his tomorrow free. With him for comrade Each day shall be enough, and what is good Enjoyed, and what is evil borne or cursed. I go, because I will not have a home, Or here prefer to there, or near to far. I go, because I will not have a friend Lay claim upon my leisure this day week. I will be melted by each smile that takes me; What though a hundred lips should meet with mine! A vagabond I shall be as the moon is. The sun, the waves, the winds, all birds, all beasts, Are ever on the move, and take what comes; They are not parasites like plants and men Rooted in that which fed them yesterday. Not even Memory shall follow Delphis, For I will yield to all impulse save hers, Therein alone subject to prescient rigour; Lest she should lure me back among the dying-- Pilfer the present for the beggar past. Free minds must bargain with each greedy moment And seize the most that lies to hand at once. Ye are too old to understand my words; I yet have youth enough, and can escape From that which sucks each individual man Into the common dream. Cydilla: Stay, Delphis, hear what Damon has to say! He is mad! Damon: