To lose myself among the famous dead.
For in the glory where a martyr’s bled
Lurks a renunciation of the known,—
His wine is salty, and his bread a stone....
Mine is a sparkling wine, mine sweetened bread.
I care not for a deathless imagery
With you a living image by my side,
Nor for a visioned truth with you the true.
I need no Godhood save the gift of pride
To make my idol my idolatry,