, , , , , , , ,


A jellyfish swam in a tropical sea,
And he said, “This world it consists of ME;
There’s nothing above and nothing below
That a jellyfish ever can possibly know,
Since the highest reach we can boast of, sight,
Is only the vaguest sense of light;
And we’ve got, for the final test of things,
To trust to the news which one feeling brings.
Now, all that I learn from the sense of touch,
Is the fact of my feelings viewed as such;
But to think they have an external cause
Is an inference clear against logical laws:
Again, to suppose, as I’ve hitherto done,
There are other jelly-fish under the sun,
Is a poor assumption that can’t be backed
By a jot of proof or a single fact:
In short, like Fichte, I very much doubt
If there’s anything else at all without;
And so I’ve come to the plain conclusion,
If the question be only set free from confusion,
That the universe centers solely in me,
And if I were not then nothing would be!-”
Just then a shark, who was passing by,
Gobbled him up in the twink of an eye,
And he died with a few convulsive twists,
But, somehow-the universe still exists!

— Grant Allen