“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!”
Quote by Kenneth Rand
Author
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