To Ambrose Bierce
MASTER, when worms have had their will of thee, And thou art but a voice along the years— A star in the companionship of spheres That are Fame's firmament—may God decree That song and song's hostilities shall be A sword within my hands, a flame that sears The liar's mouth that slanders thee, nor fears The vengeances of Truth's supremacy! O Fates that on the tomb of greatness dead Permit the viper and the toad to bask, Lend me your youngest lightnings, and impel My spirit as a whirlwind to the task To char the liar's tongue within his head— Like ashes on the adamant of Hell!
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