Man has been thought superior to the swarm
Of ruminating cows, of witless foals
Who, crouching when the voice of thunder rolls,
Are banqueted upon a thunderstorm.

But shall the fearing eyes of humankind
Have peeped behind the curtain and excel
The boldness of a wondering gazelle
Or of a bird imprisoned in the wind?

Ah! never may we hope to win release
Before we that unripeness overthrow —
So must the corn in agitation grow
Before the sickle sings the song of peace.