I hate the man who tells me that I lied ...

I hate the man who tells me that I lied;

I may eat mice but still I have some pride.

One night I dreamed the moon spread out a scroll

Against the stars in heaven’s dark blue bowl.

Thereon I read a formula for making

Diamonds of stars; my own but for the taking.

I dreamed I broke a star from out the blue,

And soon beneath my hands a diamond grew.

But then I looked into the sky again

And all my work seemed childish—drab and vain;

A million light my glorious diamond lit,

Yet I had dimmed a star in making it

And so I put it back—all in my dream—

And to my wonder saw it flame and gleam

Brighter than all the other stars around;

My heart beat up my blood with one great bound.

And when I woke I sighed and longed so greatly

To do that wondrous thing I dreamed, that straightly

I told it as a truth to all I met—

It angers me that they revile me yet.

I may ride geese to find a morning moon

And teach a pig to dance and sing a tune.

That I praise rats I never have denied,

But damn the grunging fool who says I lied.