EYES aloft over dangerous places,|
The children follow where Psyche flies,
And, in the sweat of their upturned faces,
Slash with a net at the empty skies.
So it goes they fall amid brambles,
Then to quiet them comes their father
‘You will find on it whorls and clots of
. . . . .
The three-dimensioned preacher saith.
So we must not look where the snail and the slug lie
For Psyches birth . . . . And that is our death!