And fall the further.

A plain tale is mine

Of naked fact, unconscious of design,

Told of the world in this last century

Of man's (not God's) disgrace, the XIXth. We

Have made it all a little as it is

In our own images and likenesses,

And need the more forgiveness for our sin.

8

Therefore, my Muse, impatient to begin,

I bid thee fearless forward on thy road:

Steer thou thy honest course 'twixt bad and good.

Know this, in art that thing alone is evil

Which shuns the one plain word that shames the devil.

Tell truth without preamble or excuse,

And all shall be forgiven thee—all, my Muse!

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