Four Song from Steven Crane

"Truth," said a traveller,
"Is a rock, a mighty fortress;
Often have I been to it,
Even to its highest tower,
From whence the world looks black."

"Truth," said a traveller,
"Is a breath, a wind,
A shadow, a phantom;
Long have I pursued it,
But never have I touched
The hem of its garment."

 ... 

Yes, I have a thousand tongues,
And nine and ninety-nine lie. 
Though I strive to use the one,
It will make no melody at my will,
But it is dead in my mouth.

If there is a witness to my little life,
To my tiny throes and struggles,
He sees a fool;
And it is not fine for gods to menace fools.

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
[“It is futile,” I said,]1
“You can never -- ”

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran [on]2.