Merely by twitching a supple finger, I twirl lives from me—strong-winged,
Or fluttering and broken.
They are my children, I am their mother and father.
I watch them live and die.
THE OLD JEW
No fawn-tinged hospital pajamas could cheat him of his austerity,
Which tamed even the doctors with its pure fire.
They examined him; made him bow to them:
Massive altars were they, at whose swollen feet grovelled a worshiper.
Then they laughed, half in scorn of him; and there came a miracle.