And like the baseless fabric of a vision

And like the baseless fabric of a vision

And like the baseless fabric of a vision

And like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a trace behind.

No, not even a buckle, or an inch of whipcord; and if, some years hence a petrified whipple tree, or the skeleton of a coachman, should be turned up, they will be hung up side by side with rusty armour and the geological gleanings of our antediluvian ancestors.