Man, introverted man, having crossed
In passage and but a little with the nature of things this
latter century
Has begot giants; but being taken up
Like a maniac with self-love and inward conflicts can-
not manage his hybrids.
Being used to deal with edgeless dreams,
Now he's bred knives on nature turns them also inward:
they have thirsty points though.
His mind forebodes his own destruction;
Actaeon who saw the goddess naked among leaves and
his hounds tore him.
A little knowledge, a pebble from a shingle,
A drop from the oceans: who would have dreamed this
infinitely little too much?
- Robinson Jeffers
