“But wherefore, sir, so metamousified?”
“Because, my son, such is the true outside
Of the inner soul by which I lived and died.”
Edward Fitzgerald.
CACOËTHES SCRIBENDI
IF all the trees in all the woods were men,
And each and every blade of grass a pen;
If every leaf on every shrub and tree
Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea
Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes