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FERISHTAH'S FANCIES.
And sets man maundering of his misery,That there 's no meanest atom he obtainsOf what he counts for knowledge but he cries'Hold here,—I have the whole thing,—know, this time,Nor need search farther!' Whereas, strew his pathWith pleasures, and he scorns them while he stoops:'This fitly call'st thou pleasure, pick up thisAnd praise it, truly? I reserve my thanksFor something more substantial.' Fool not thusIn practising with life and its delights!Enjoy the present gift, nor wait to knowThe unknowable. Enough to say 'I feelLove's sure effect, and, being loved, must loveThe love its cause behind,—I can and do!'Nor turn to try thy brain-power on the fact,