Instead of shooting here and there, A will-o’-the-wisp in murky air. Days will be spent to bid you know, What once you did at a single blow, Like eating and drinking, free and strong,— That one, two, three! thereto belong. Truly the fabric of mental fleece Resembles a weaver’s masterpiece, Where a thousand threads one treadle throws, Where fly the shuttles hither and thither. Unseen the threads are knit together. And an infinite combination grows. Then, the philosopher steps in And shows, no otherwise it could have been: The first was so, the second so, Therefore the third and fourth are so;
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