The poets strung pearls so I undid the strands; the wise crafted words so I helped them understand. The sophists debated so I tied up their tongues; the prophets prophesied so I gave Destiny a hand. When all was done and the smoke had cleared each one bowed down before me: "How swift thy sword!" they exclaimed. But I, the poet madman, did demure: "It was Love that smote thee, sires, for none may play the lord in His domain."