Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake day-wisdom, which mocketh at all “infinite worlds”? For it saith: “Where force is, there becometh number the master: it hath more force.”

How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:⁠—

—As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:⁠—thus did the world present itself unto me:⁠—

—As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree, curved as a recline and a footstool for weary travellers: thus did the world stand on my promontory:⁠—

—As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me⁠—a casket open for the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present itself before me today:⁠—