Shaken and low, he said like one in prayer, "Celeste, beware of that. Say truth, not fame. If there be any happiness on earth, It springs from truth alone, the truth we live In act and thought. I have looked up there and seen Too many worlds to talk of fame on earth. Fame, on this grain of dust among the stars, The trumpet of a gnat that thinks to halt The great sun-clusters moving on their way In silence! Yes, that's fame, but truth, Celeste, Truth and its laws are constant, even up there; That's where one man may face and fight the world. His weakness turns to strength. He is made one With universal forces, and he holds The password to eternity. Gate after gate swings back through all the heavens. No sentry halts him, and no flaming sword. Say truth, Celeste, not fame." "No, for I'll say A better word," I told him. "I'll say love." He took my face between his hands and said-- His face all dark between me and the stars-- "What's love, Celeste, but this dear face of truth Upturned to heaven." He left me, and I heard, Some twelve hours later, that this man whose soul Was dedicate to Truth, was threatened now With torture, if his lips did not deny The truth he loved. I tell you all these things Because to help him, you must understand him; And even you may doubt him, if you hear Only those plausible outside witnesses Who never heard his heart-beats as have I. So let me tell you all--his quest for truth, And how this hate began. Even from the first, He made his enemies of those almost-minds Who chanced upon some new thing in the dark And could not see its meaning, for he saw, Always, the law illumining it within. So when he heard of that strange optic-glass Which brought the distance near, he thought it out By reason, where that other hit upon it Only by chance. He made his telescope; And O, how vividly that day comes back, When in their gorgeous robes the Senate stood Beside him on that high Venetian tower, Scanning the bare blue sea that showed no speck Of sail. Then, one by one, he bade them look; And one by one they gasped, "a miracle." Brown sails and red, a fleet of fishing boats, See how the bright foam bursts around their bows! See how the bare-legged sailors walk the decks! Then, quickly looking up, as if to catch The vision, ere it tricked them, all they saw Was empty sea again. Many believed That all was trickery, but he bade them note The colours of the boats, and count their sails. Then, in a little while, the naked eye Saw on the sky-line certain specks that grew, Took form and colour; and, within an hour, Their magic fleet came foaming into port. Whereat old senators, wagging their white beards, And plucking at golden chains with stiff old claws Too feeble for the sword-hilt, squeaked at once: "This glass will give us great advantages In time of war." War, war, O God of love,