Whatever is we only know 
As in our minds we find it so; 
No staring fact is half so clear 
As one dim, preconceived idea — 
No matter how the fact may glow. 

Vainly may Truth her trumpet blow 
To stir our minds; like heavy dough 
They stick to what they think — won’t hear 
Whatever is. 

Our ancient myths in solid row 
Stand up — we simply have to go 
And choke each fiction old and dear 
Before the modest facts appear; 
Then we may grasp, reluctant, slow, 
Whatever is.