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?
(Dante Gabriel Rossetti)
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