Like lovers’ thoughts, it’s wandering, unconnected, bold.
Commencement it has none;—eternity’s its sign;—
Still less conclusion;—so, eternity’s design.
Or, rather, it’s like water;—every drop, so rich,
Commencement is, and end;—yet shows not which is which.660
But, God forbid! Our story’s not a fable. See!
Its narrative’s a point concerns both me and thee!
A gnostic, in possession of his wits and sense,
Repeats not what is past;—he bides the present tense.
The Arab, his poor pitcher, Caliph, all, observe,