Women know the way to rear up children (to be just). They know a simple, merry, tender knack of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, and stringing pretty words that make no sense. And kissing full sense into empty words.

With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.

And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness; Round our restlessness, His rest.

He's just, your cousin, ay, abhorrently, He'd wash his hands in blood, to keep them clean.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use

His ears were often the first thing to catch my tears.

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?