No boast that, dropped from cloud, they did not grow from ground?

Why, these fare worst of all! these vanish and are found

Nowhere, by who tasks eye some twice within his term

Of threescore years and ten, for tidings what each germ

Has burgeoned out into, whereof the promise stunned

His ear with such acclaim,—praise-payment to refund

The praisers, never doubt, some twice before they die

Whose days are long i' the land.

CXII

Alack, Philosophy!