ONCE on a time, the ancient legends tell.
Truth, rising from the bottom of her well.
Looked on the world, but, hearing how it lied.
Returned to her seclusion horrified.
There she abode, so conscious of her worth.
Not even Pilate’s Question called her forth.
Nor Galileo, kneeling to deny
The Laws that hold our Planet ‘neath the sky.
Meantime, her kindlier sister, whom men call
Fiction, did all her work and more than all.
With so much zeal, devotion, tact, and care.
That no one noticed Truth was otherwhere.
Then came a War when, bombed and gassed and mined.
Truth rose once more, perforce, to meet mankind.
And through the dust and glare and wreck of things.
Beheld a phantom on unbalanced wings.
Reeling and groping, dazed, dishevelled, dumb.
But semaphoring direr deeds to come.
Truth hailed and bade her stand; the quavering shade
Clung to her knees and babbled,‘Sister, aid!
I am — I was — thy Deputy, and men
Besought me for my useful tongue or pen
To gloss thei............