Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there
In small bright specks upon the visible side
Of our strange beings party-coloured web.
How rich the converse! Tis a vein of ore
Emerging now and then on Earths rude breast,
But flowing full below. Like islands set
At distant intervals on Oceans face,
We see it on our course; but in the depths
The mystic colonnade unbroken keeps
Its faithful way, invisible but sure.
Oh, if it be so, wherefore do we men
Pass by so many marks, so little heeding?
The Thread of Truth
Arthur Hugh Clough
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