"I am the mote in the sunbeam, and I am the burning sun; “Rest here!” I whisper the atom; I call to the orb, “Roll on!” I am the blush of morning, and I am the evening breeze; I am the leaf’s low murmur, the swell of the terrible seas; I am the net, the fowler, the bird and its frightened cry, The mirror, the form reflected, the sound and its echo, I; The lover’s passionate pleading, the maiden’s whispered fear, The warrior, the blade that smites him, his mother’s heart-wrung tear; I am intoxication, grapes, wine-press, and must and wine, The guest, the host, the tavern, the goblet of crystal fine; I am the breath of the flute, I am the mind of man, Gold’s glitter, the light of the diamond, and the sea-pearl’s lustre wan, The rose, her poet nightingale, the songs from his throat that rise, Flint sparks, the taper, the moth, that about it flies. I am both Good and Evil; the deed and the deed’s intent, Temptation, victim, sinner, crime, pardon and punishment, I am what was, is, will be; creation’s ascent and fall; The link, the chain of existence; beginning and end of all."