I hate the man who tells me that I lied ...
I hate the man who tells me that I lied;
I may eat mice but still I have some pride.
One night I dreamed the moon spread out a scroll
Against the stars in heaven’s dark blue bowl.
Thereon I read a formula for making
Diamonds of stars; my own but for the taking.
I dreamed I broke a star from out the blue,
And soon beneath my hands a diamond grew.
But then I looked into the sky again
And all my work seemed childish—drab and vain;
A million light my glorious diamond lit,
Yet I had dimmed a star in making it
And so I put it back—all in my dream—
And to my wonder saw it flame and gleam
Brighter than all the other stars around;
My heart beat up my blood with one great bound.
And when I woke I sighed and longed so greatly
To do that wondrous thing I dreamed, that straightly
I told it as a truth to all I met—
It angers me that they revile me yet.
I may ride geese to find a morning moon
And teach a pig to dance and sing a tune.
That I praise rats I never have denied,
But damn the grunging fool who says I lied.