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VIII. POET: Here in the abode of Meditation, Unannoyed of men,

Let me commune with you, silent Mother, face to face. Teach me to speak so that men must listen. Not only those who buzz this little hour, But those to come.

TRUTH: Speak. They will listen.

POET: Who has said to you, ye Masters, the Earth shall be yours. And your brethren be your tenants? V>^ho has given you possession of your brethren. Or who has made you custodian of the right to live? Who has made the laws which have created you overlords. Or by what right are the laws by which your brethren are disinherited?

TRUTH: Greater than the building of great cities Is the building of the soul of Man.

POET: Flower most glorious of Earth. I have bitten its root with a poison More bitter than the fangs of a serpent.

TRUTH: Nature has filled the cradle With abundance overflowing. But the rulers have snatched away her gifts.

POET: And I have consented.

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