"I am the swarm of sounds, the epidemic
Of living words that pass from soul to soul.
I am the Breath. I am smoke, cinder, flame,
Sometimes brute instinct, sometimes divine impetus.
I am the vast invincible vain passerby
Called Wind; my words contain both star and spark,
Because I am the breath of all—the breath,
Not the mouth; breeze infuriates me and deflates me;
And when I have breathed out, I have said everything.
I am dwarf, giant, true, false, muffled, resonant,
Public in darkness, people at dawn, saying
Both ‘I’ and ‘we’: I affirm, we deny.
I am the flux of voices and opinions,
The phantom of the year, month, and week
Formed by the fleeting human cloud.
Within me, contradiction is incessantly
Turning its hidden wheel: I am its Ixion.
I, being Demos, walk, wait, roam, weep, laugh,
Deny, believe: I am the demon Mob."