Go Tell the Lying World
Go tell the lying world that Indolence
Is not a siren sitting on white bones,
But the sweet nurse of fancy and romance,
Mother of song and every starry art,—
Go tell the world that we have found her so—
We, who weave wonder for the ears of men,
And, through all ages, beauty for men's eyes.
Is not a siren sitting on white bones,
But the sweet nurse of fancy and romance,
Mother of song and every starry art,—
Go tell the world that we have found her so—
We, who weave wonder for the ears of men,
And, through all ages, beauty for men's eyes.
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