Words like these, From lips like hers, were needed medicine. They clarified my weak and jaundiced sight, And helped to juster vision of the world, And of myself. But there was no return Of the old greed; and fame, which I had learned To be an entity quite different From my conceit of it in other days, Was something much too far and nebulous To be my star of life. "You have some plan?"-- Statement and query in same words, which fell From lips that sought to rehabilitate My will and self-respect. "I have," I said. "Else you were dead," responded she. "To live, Men must have plans. When these die out of men They crumble into chaos, or relapse Into inanity. Will you reveal These plans of yours to me?" "Ay, if I can," I answered her; "but first I must reveal The base on which I build them. I have tried To find the occasion of my discontent, And find it, as I think, just here; in quest Of popularity, I have become Untrue both to myself and to my art. I have not dared to speak the royal truth For fear of censure; I have been a slave To men's opinions. What is best in me Has been debauched by the pursuit of praise As life's best prize. Conviction, sentiment, All love and hate, all sense of right and wrong, I have held in abeyance, or compelled To work in menial subservience To my grand purpose. If my sentiment Or my conviction were but popular, It flowed in hearty numbers: otherwise, It slept in silence. "Now as to my art; I find that it has suffered like myself, And suffered from same cause. My verse has been Shaped evermore to meet the people's thought. That which was highest, grandest in my art I have not reached, and have not tried to reach I have but touched the surfaces of things That meet the common vision; and my art Has only aimed to clothe them gracefully With fancy's gaudy fabrics, or portray Their patent beauties and deformities. Above the people in my gift and art, Both gift and art have had a downward trend And both are prostitute. "Discarding praise As motive of my labor, I confess My sins against my art, and so, henceforth, As to my goddess, give myself to her. The chivalry which you are pleased to note In me and works of mine, turns loyally To her and to her service. Nevermore Shall pen of mine demean itself by work That serves not first, and with supreme intent, The art whose slave it is."