The fount of thought’s congealed; heart’s blood diluted thin.
One grain of wheat has cast eclipse o’er sun of mind,
As “dragon’s tail” doth dull the full moon, when inclined.[433]
Behold! How delicate is thought! One mite of clay,
From full-moon glory, it reduced to disarray.
The bread of life, received, digested, gives man power.
Material bread excites distrusts, contentions, sour.
The thorn, while green, cropped by the camel, far from fords,
Not only pleasure gives, but nutriment affords.5
That selfsame thorn, grown dry and void of juicy sap,