VIII.

You know, or don't know, that great Bacon saith, "Fling up a straw, 't will show the way the wind blows;"[706] And such a straw, borne on by human breath, Is Poesy, according as the Mind glows; A paper kite which flies 'twixt Life and Death, A shadow which the onward Soul behind throws: And mine's a bubble, not blown up for praise, But just to play with, as an infant plays.