The honest man in the mirror, mundane topic, Sees himself. But not, not as he is, dwarfish Moralist in a vermillioned land, A hunchback crouching in a box. Oh no, Not that, not as--but as--he sees he as he Was meant to be. Interlocutor at large in a world Mad for prestidigitations, The gift of if and fragrant hullabaloo --The verisimilitude of seems, not is. He meets himself bending in a pool, His prodigious doublet washed off to skin, Misty skin, and rain in the rushes again Beating the mirror into silvers. He sees this, and sees still, with any eye Scrounged from any possible socket, The panoply, the possible panoply Of the yet to be.