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Poem	Equality is absolute or no. Nothing between can stand. We are the sons Of the same sire, or madness breaks and runs Through the rude world. Ridiculous our woe If single pity does not love it. So Our separate fathers love us. No man shuns His poorest child's embrace. We are the sons Of such, or ground and sky are soon to go. Nor do born brothers judge, as good or ill, Their being. Each consents and is the same, Or suddenly sweet winds turn into flame And floods are on us--fire, earth, water, air All hideously parted, as his will Withdraws, no longer fatherly and there.
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