The Wind Blew Words Along The Skies, And These It Blew To Me Through The Wide Dusk: "Lift Up Your Eyes, Behold This Troubled Tree, Complaining As It Sways And Plies; It Is A Limb Of Thee. "Yea, Too, The Creatures Sheltering Round - Dumb Figures, Wild And Tame, Yea, Too, Thy Fellows Who Abound - Either Of Speech The Same Or Far And Strange - Black, Dwarfed, And Browned, They Are Stuff Of Thy Own Frame." I Moved On In A Surging Awe Of Inarticulateness At The Pathetic Me I Saw In All His Huge Distress, Making Self-Slaughter Of The Law To Kill, Break, Or Suppress.