Told, she did, her paramour

That all things lovely, right, and pure

Are due philosophy de jourFanaticism’s lure Said, she did, its wicked grip

Could all archaic myths make slip

Then every shred of faith will strip

And bloody reason’s lip

Told, she did, her lover new

What good a deadened soul can do

To fools who steep in moral stew

On some forgotten pew

Said, she did, that God is dead

Slain by those of learned head

Who opted for His flesh instead

Of prayer and daily bread