“I wrought me a lyric of fire and fear,
And called on the world to heed —
Till strong men blenched at my haggard face
And shuddered, but would not read.
So I stole me the gold of the mines of Joy
And fashioned a conscious lie —
And they gave me the wreath of the kings of Song
And prayed that I might not die!
(For the lie that I wrought was as old as the world
And dear as the vision of Heaven —
Of the crimson lure of a maiden's lips
And the myth of a sin forgiven!)
But my heart was sick, and my soul grew less,
With the light of my failing days,
Because I had lied to my Knowledge-God
For the pottage of human praise.
O I clung to the rim of the cliffs of Hell
And called on an empty Name —
Till there dropped the tears of a weeping Truth
And saved my soul from the flame.
So I hid my soul in a maiden's hair,
And climbed to a clearer view —
And I found I had lied to a lying God,
And the myth I had sung - was true!”