The imagination creates nature from scratch;
the slough of experience it remolds
into a syllabled square resembling a patch,
internally partitioned into peaks and folds.
One searches in vain for the door and latch.
Certain inner removes are sequestered and drear.
That mound in the center resembles Calvary.
The eastern wall is sloped, the western sheer.
The cadence is where one collects one’s salary.
One arrives there at the end of a lengthy search.
There’s really no need for you to hurry.
Up there you can see Minerva’s owl on her perch.
She wants nothing to do with you, so don’t worry.
She watches fall the anvils of the mind.
Thus, second nature is with the first intertwined.
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