"I am Promethea, the child who stands Between fixed earth and insubstantial air, a dream thought who yet treads matter's rain-swept strands, And mortals are the sandals that I wear. I am Promethea. From Mind’s pure light I stoop into Earth's dark gloom, From Fables’ day Descending into Facts’ cold weighty night, From lyric atmospheres to mammal clay. I am Promethea, the rumored one, The mythic bough that Reason strains to bend. I am that voice left, once the book is done... I am the dream that waking does not end."