The fertile author’s playing God,
Shaping his creatures from the sod
Of his fecund imaginings
That range from cabbages to kings.
Like puppets that he animates,
The ways of life he simulates
Convince us that what he has dreamed
Amazingly should be esteemed—
That simulacra of this kind
Should seem possessed of heart and mind,
And though we know we’ve been beguiled,
We still believe what he has styled.