Paracelsus In Excelsus,
By Ezra Pound
Being no longer human, why should I
Pretend humanity or don the frail attire?
Men have I known and men, but never one
Was grown so free an essence, or become
So simply element as what I am.
The mist goes from the mirror and I see.
Behold! The world of forms is swept beneath –
Turmoil grown visible beneath our peace,
And we that are grown formless, rise above –
Fluids intangible that have been men,
We seem as statues round whose high-risen base
Some overflowing river is run mad,
In us alone the element of calm.