Of God I know not

Of God I know not;

But this I know;

I can comprehend no being more wonderful than man;

Man, before the rage of whose passions the storms of Heaven are but a breath;

Before whose caprices the lightning is slow and less fatal;

Man, microcosm of all Creation's wildness, terror, beauty and power,

And whose folly and wickedness are in nothing else existent.

O dirt, you corpse, I reckon you are good manure -- but that I do not smell --

I smell your beautiful white roses --

I kiss your leafy lips -- I slide my hands for the brown melons of your breasts.