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The seed of mortals broods o'er passing things, and hath nought surer than the smoke-cloud's shadow.

Aeschylus (1873). “The Tragedies of Æschylos: A New Translation, with a Biographical Essay, and an Appendix of Rhymed Choral Odes”, p.342
The seed of mortals broods o'er passing things, and hath nought surer than the smoke-cloud's shadow.