In thunder-music. Yea, we hear their voice,
And we may guess their minds from ours, their work.
Some taste they have like ours, some tendency
To wriggle about, and munch a trace of scum.”
He floated up on a pin-point bubble of gas,
That burst, pricked by the air, and he was gone.
One was a barren-minded monad, called
A positivist, and he knew positively:
“There was no world beyond this certain drop.
Prove me another! Let the dreamers dream