This is the thing, this truly is the thing.

We dreamt it once; now it has come about.

That was the dream, but this, this is the thing.

The dream was bold and thought it could foretell

What time would bring, but time, it seems, can bring

Only this thing which never has had a doubt

That everything is much like everything,

And the deep family likeness will come out.

We thought the dream would spread its folded wing;

But here’s a thing that’s neither sick nor well,

Stupid nor wise, and has no story to tell,

Though every tale is about it and about.

That is the thing, that is the very thing.

Yet take another look and you may bring

From the dull mass each separate splendour out.

There is no trust but in the miracle.