“As,” say they, “the pen its marks Curiously doth trace On the smooth unsullied white Of the paper’s face, So do outer things impress Images on consciousness.”

But if verily the mind Thus all passive lies; If no living power within Its own force supplies; If it but reflect again, Like a glass, things false and vain⁠—

Whence the wondrous faculty That perceives and knows, That in one fair ordered scheme Doth the world dispose; Grasps each whole that Sense presents, Or breaks into elements?