He held abstractions very dear
And dreamed their dreamy atmosphere,
But he had nothing, naught had he,
Till he went back to reality!

He flew with Plato far and high,
Ideal zero in his eye,
But not a hero could he be
Till he went back to reality!

A nominalist he could have been,
Intrincisist—it was for him!
But he had nothing, naught had he,
Till he went back to reality!

Subjectivist–now that seemed best,
Make a world with mental zest,
But nothing certain he would be
Till he went back to reality!