It was a symptom of the insanity of human beings in a cosmos obviously designed for them to live in, but which they industriously prepare to make unlivable.
Oh, my beloved nymph, fair Dove, Princess of rivers, how I love Upon thy flowery banks to lie, And view thy silver stream, When gilded by a summer's beam! And in it all thy wanton fry, Playing at liberty; And with my angle, upon them The all of treachery I ever learned, industriously to try!
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