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The more he dwelt upon that darksome tale,
Touch'd and retouch'd the record, not to gild,
Not to adorn with picture-light of words,
But there and here to give the guise of truth
And very seeming, the more it work'd in him,
On him laid hold. A sickness of the mind
Came over him: the imaged life became
His own. In stresses of a final draft,
A last sad conquest in reality,
It seem'd that something which was more than self
Empower'd him to accept the part of doom.
That which his mind had fashion'd and evolved
Cross'd the dim threshold between art and life,
Lodged after as a madness in the brain,
And haunted. Exorcizing power of will
Was baffled. Panic follow'd, then the time

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Of a still frenzy, as he took the dread
Into his heart and nursed it, help'd the growth
Within, consented and was crucified.