Do as all children who not only, when they are a bit ‘lifted, play and jump with some of their song well-rhythmic, but when they are still poppanti, and make the forest, with measure and cadence stutter between themselves and their rows of pa pa and ma ma.
And in this it is right because it is nature. You are still in the presence of the new world, and make use of the new word to mean it. The world is born for everyone born in the world. And in this it is the mystery of your essence and your function. You are very old, or child! And very old is the world that you see again! It is primitive the rhythm (not this or that, but the rhythm in general) with which you, in a certain way, you rock and dance! How foolish are those who want to rebel or one or the other of these two needs, which seem to clash with each other: see again and see from ancient, and say what has never said and say as always said and it will be said! And they rebel, the ones with clever gestures of pedants: This metaphor is not in … (and here is the name of a more recent poet by hand); the others with pugnacious attitudes of innovators: This is not very unheard of and inaudible! Those are in general old, that every authority believes in old age; and these, young people who imagine every strength in their youth; these are more boring than those, because a pride is always impertinent, and the other is never without sadness, and because if one no longer understands, by senile deafness, the witty chatter of the child, the others do not they still intend, for that cackling they do, miserably proud, around their young self. And, indeed, young people are not, that they are, if they were, they would not notice. Being an old man, one realizes yes, sometimes, and then he dresses, dyes himself, shouts to a young man. Is this the case with you, old ladies?
