And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always think that nature herself is in love with them:

And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and amorous flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, before all mortals!

Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the poets have dreamed!

And especially above the heavens: for all Gods are poet-symbolisations, poet-sophistications!

Verily, ever are we drawn aloft⁠—that is, to the realm of the clouds: on these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and Supermen:⁠—

Are not they light enough for those chairs!⁠—all these Gods and Supermen?⁠—