“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.”

And I believed the second traveller; 
 For truth was to me 
 A breath, a wind, 
 A shadow, a phantom, 
 And never had I touched 
 The hem of its garment.