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POET: Oh, Truth, what is the death of the soul?

TRUTH: The death of the soul is authority. None is fit to govern another. Self-choice is best, even though it blunder.

POET: Unto myself I am of greater stature than another. And another is to himself of greater stature than I.

TRUTH: Only by self-expression, The nettle, as well as the rose. Is the growth of the soul.

VII.

TRUTH: Not till Man be lawless will he be lawful. Not till each is free to be immoral Will there be morality. Not till he may be impure will he be pure.

POET: I laugh at this Morality, a painted mask.

TRUTH: Behold the grass and the trees; Do they think fearfully lest they offend The grass and the trees of yester-year? As the trees put out their blossoms. So should Man blossom ; The apple-trees, with their fruit. And the locust-trees which toss their blonde curls And seduce the Breeze with honey.

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