>> From The Keeper of Flocks, XXVIII
>
> Talking about the soul of stones, of flowers, of rivers,
> Is talking about yourself and your false thoughts.
> Thank God stones are only stones,
> And rivers are nothing but rivers,
> And flowers are just flowers.
>
> Me, I write the prose of my poems
> And I'm at peace,
> Because I know I comprehend Nature on the outside;
> And I don't comprehend Nature on the inside
> Because Nature doesn't have an inside;
> If she did she wouldn't be Nature.
>
> Alberto Caeiro da Silva, 1914
And thank the gods that Nature (sic) is so capitally indulgent as not to spew me out, lukewarm, for my persistent delusion that she (sic) has an outside, from within which (!) I presume to deign to contemplate her - babbling all the while, without comprehension, the language of birds.
<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parlement_of_Foules>