THE PROPHET BY KAHLIL GIBRAN

The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark.




For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.



Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?



A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.



And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun