Classic Poem

She told a lie, a little lie.
It was so small and white,
She said, “It cannot help but die
Before another night.”
And then she laughed to see it go,
And thought it was as white as snow.

But oh, the lie! it larger grew,
Nor paused by night or day,
And many watched it as it flew,
And, if it made delay,
Like something that was near to death,
They blew it onward with their breath.

And on its track the mildew fell,
And tears of grief and shame,
And many a spotless lily-bell
Was shriveled as with flame.
The wings that were so small and white,
Were large, and strong, and black as night.

One day a woman stood aghast,
And trembled in her place,
For something, flying far and fast,
Had smote her in the face;
Something that cried in thunder tone,
“I come! I come! Take back your own!”

She told a lie, a little lie.
It was so small and white,
She said, “It cannot help but die
Before another night.”
And then she laughed to see it go,
And thought it was as white as snow.

But oh, the lie! it larger grew,
Nor paused by night or day,
And many watched it as it flew,
And, if it made delay,
Like something that was near to death,
They blew it onward with their breath.

And on its track the mildew fell,
And tears of grief and shame,
And many a spotless lily-bell
Was shriveled as with flame.
The wings that were so small and white,
Were large, and strong, and black as night.

One day a woman stood aghast,
And trembled in her place,
For something, flying far and fast,
Had smote her in the face;
Something that cried in thunder tone,
“I come! I come! Take back your own!”