On we learn - higher still -
To ends which we are undestined
We learn for not knowledge only
But for curiosity which we feel fondly
For.  What do we learn unfettered
That biased guidance we say may kill?
Knowledge may have a taint

And be pure, if no faint
Is made as to their origins.
Knowledge learned mayn't be false
As long as it is our pulse
That creates the thread which mends
Those pieces together without pain
Lavish and conjured merely by longings.

Is it knowledge from opinion we are construing
To be false?!  For is it not still
True that a spoken voice 
Relevant once heard may we hoist
Into simply 'what is,' and cannot our fill
Be taken in as we are still fooling 
With this silly absolute of what 'is?'