AT length I sickened, standing in the sun
Truthful and for the Truth, whose only fees
Are madness and sharp death. I bowed my knees
And said: -As long as the world's years have run,
These accents have been said and these things done:
That which is mine abasement is their ease:
They say, -Go to-all this is as we please:
Shall we, being many, step aside for one?-
-And thus it is that though the air be new,
And my brow finds the coolness it hath sought
Through the slow-stricken night,-the daily curse
Weighs on my soul of what I waken to:
For though I loathe the price, this must be bought.�
... Thou fool! Would'st buy from man what God confers?