We all deceive ourselves, and so we fall;
We all run after shadows, in our way:
So many madmen, one can′t count them all;
Send them to Æsop′s Dog,—I beg and pray.
The Dog, who saw the shadow of the meat
He carried, dark upon the liquid tide,
Dropping his prey, snapped at the counterfeit:
The river rose, and washed him from the side.
True, with much danger, he regained the shore,
But neither meat nor shadow saw he more.