The Republic

In every claim he finds himself agreeing:
The wise is blind to a thorough deceit.
His blindness is the sight of the whole Being —
One's single purpose and his only feat.

Many are temperate, to taste delight,
Others are brave in fear to lose their dearest.
Only a few in virtues find foresight,
In foresight justice — verses in the lyrist.

Before the sun where he finds himself under,
The true philosopher faces the wonder
Of an all loving and embracing glow.

The world is filled with rocks, and plants, and beasts,
And the inner man who on those creatures feasts.
In but a glance he sees all there's to know.