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Show Diminished creature, I no more Find Fairyland beside my door, But for each moment's pleasure pay With the quart d' !lCure of Rabelais ! I watch you in your crystal sphere, And wonder if you see and hear Those shapes and sounds that stir the wide Conjecture of a world outside; In your pent lives, as we in ours, Have you surmises dim of powers, Of presences obscurely shown, Of lives a riddle to your own, Just on the senses' outer verge, Where sense-nerves into soul-nerves merge, Where we conspire our own deceit Confederate in deft Fancy's feat, And the fooled brain befools the eyes With pageants woven of its own lies? But are they lies ? Why more than those Phantoms that startle your repose, I7 |