O Mortal Men, Be Wary Of How

Mankind Is At Its Best When It Is Most Free.

I Presumed To Fix My Look On The Eternal Light So Long That I Consumed My Sight Thereon.

Midway In Our Life's Journey, I Went Astray From The Straight Road And Woke To Find Myself Alone In A Dark Wood.

Those Ancients Who In Poetry Presented The Golden Age, Who Sang Its Happy State, Perhaps, In Their Parnassus, Dreamt This Place. Here, Mankind's Root Was Innocent; And Here Were Every Fruit And Never-ending Spring; These Streams--the Nectar Of Which Poets Sing.

If You Give People Light, They Will Find Their Own Way.