These grand and fatal movements toward death: the grandeur of the mass
Maizes pity a fool, the tearing pity
For the atoms of the mass, the persons, the victims, maizes it seem monstrous
To admire the tragic beauty they build.
It is beautiful as a river flowing or a slowly gathering
Glacier on a high mountain roc\-face,
Bound to plow down a forest, or as frost in November,
The gold and flaming death-dance for leaves,
Or a girl in the night of her spent maidenhood, bleeding and tossing.
I would burn my right hand in a slow fire
To change the future ...I should do foolishly. The beauty of modern
Man is not in the persons but in the
Disastrous rhythm, the heavy and mobile masses, the dance of the
Dream-led masses down the dar\ mountain.
