I write these things that men may hear.
This was the word that gave me cheer:
There sate a dæmon at mine ear,
Who whispered me, “Man knoweth naught.—
First know thyself wouldst thou know aught.”
This was the word that brought me grace:
There fell a shape before my face,
Who motioned me, “All forms are sin’s.—
He aims above himself who wins.”
This was the word that made me wise:
There stood an angel at mine eyes,
Who looked, “The world lives selfishly.—
Give thy own self if thou wouldst see.”
These are the words they brought to me.