LXIII.

But these are foolish things to all the wise,

And I love Wisdom more than she loves me;

My tendency is to philosophise

On most things, from a tyrant to a tree;

But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies.

What are we? and whence came we? what shall be

Our ultimate existence? what's our present?

Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.

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