I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.
A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
He is all fault who has no fault at all.
Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
Every man, for the sake of the great blessed Mother in Heaven, and for the love of his own little mother on earth, should handle all womankind gently, and hold them in all Honor.