Classic Poem

There is a Knowledge wilder than the creeds
Of this, though all hope scatter like the seeds
Am I more proud than any tongue can tell
On this, though all hope scatter like the chaff
Would I abide as on a mighty staff —
Yea for this thing lift up my head and laugh
In everlasting hell.

" I am " : men lightly utter it: but I
Saying " I am " to any sod or sky
Raise a new self, vaster yet the same
Stars crown my head: imperial and alone
In my own ears my voice is not my own
And he that sitteth on the last great throne
Sayeth his own name.