Oh worse than everything, is kindness counterfeiting absent love.
I love being superior to myself better than [to] my equals.
All nature seems at work.
That saints will aid if men will call; For the blue sky bends over all!
So will I build my altar in the fields, And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be, And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields Shall be the incense I will yield to thee.
The once red leaf, the last of its clan, that dances as often as dance it can.