How can I dread you, O portentous wise,
When I consider you were once this size?
How cringe before the sage who understands,
Who once had foolish, perfect, waving hands,
As small as these are? How bow down in dread,
When I conceive your warm, domed, downy head
Smelling of soap? O you — from North to South
Renowned — who put your toes inside your mouth.